Fighting, Honour and Valhalla Chapter 58 - Viking and The Witcher: Year 2 (30k words, it might be a little slow) (Patreon)

Geralt sat on his heels near the dock, his hands resting on his knees, eyes scanning the busy port around him. The shouts of sailors and merchants, the creak of ropes, and the slap of waves against wooden hulls filled the air. He waited for the ship's captain to inform him of their readiness to depart. It had been a week since the ship he had been traveling on had sunk, and there was still no news of Thorfinn or Arwyn.

He wasn't worried, not yet. The pair had proven themselves resourceful over the past months, surviving worse odds than this. The ship had gone down near the mouth of the Mediterranean, and Geralt had assumed they would make it to the lifeboats, just as he had. By the time he realized they weren't among the survivors, the ship had already split in two, vanishing beneath the waves. A day later, the survivors were picked up by a passing vessel and brought to a port city in southern Portugal.

If Thorfinn and Arwyn weren't here, it was likely the currents had carried them in the opposite direction—to the North African coast. Geralt frowned slightly at the thought. He had traveled there a few times and knew the land well enough to recognize its dangers. The terrain was harsh, the sun unrelenting, and water was scarce for those who didn't know where to look. It was a place that tested even the strongest.

He adjusted his swords on his back and exhaled slowly. If they were alive, they would survive. He had seen enough of Thorfinn and Arwyn to know that they could adapt. Thorfinn's sheer grit and Arwyn's instincts would see them through. The only question was how long it would take them to find their way to Constantinople.

As his thoughts lingered on Thorfinn, Geralt's hand brushed against the medallion hanging around his neck. He remembered the first time they met, the way his medallion had vibrated. It had been so intense that he thought it might crack under the strain. Few things had ever caused such a reaction—creatures of immense power, witches of extraordinary skill, or cursed artifacts. Even then, the medallion rarely reacted this strongly.

There had been exceptions. Geralt recalled a spear a man had claimed was the one used to pierce the ribs of Jesus Christ. That artifact had produced a similar reaction, though it hadn't lasted as long. And then there was the small model ship Thorfinn carried, the one he had shown Geralt during their training. The moment the ship had been revealed, the medallion had nearly leapt from his chest. Over time, Geralt began to piece together the truth. Thorfinn's abilities weren't just the result of natural talent or training. There was something deeper at play. Geralt had noticed the gradual but undeniable changes in him. Each week, Thorfinn grew faster, stronger, more resilient. His endurance seemed boundless, his injuries healed faster than they should, and his ability to channel magic was growing.

It wasn't just the physical changes that stood out. There was something about Thorfinn's presence, an aura of power that couldn't be ignored. During their training, Geralt had pushed Thorfinn harder than he would have pushed any other pupil. He had sent him and Arwyn to hunt creatures that even experienced Witchers would hesitate to face. The fight with the Bruxa had been a calculated risk. Normally, he would never have sent them to confront such a creature without his direct involvement. Bruxae were among the most dangerous monsters in existence, capable of rivaling a newborn vampire in power. But Geralt needed to see what Thorfinn was truly capable of when pushed to his limits.

Geralt's instincts told him that Thorfinn was no ordinary man. His suspicions were confirmed the more time he spent with him. The Gods were a mystery to Geralt, but he had heard tales of their offspring—beings born of divine and mortal blood, walking the earth with the strength of gods and the mortality of men. Thorfinn was one of them.

A demi-god.

___________________________

A week of wandering with no direction. That was what Thorfinn had faced since waking on the edge of this vast desert. He had heard of places like this but had never thought he would see one himself. At home in Kattegat, the world was covered in snow and ice, the air cold. This place was its opposite. Sand stretched endlessly in all directions, the heat constant. There was no shade, no trees, and no shelter from the sun. Even the insects, few as they were, burrowed into the sand to escape the heat. For the first three days, Thorfinn had stayed near the shoreline, hoping to find Arwyn, Geralt, or any other survivors from the wreck. The sea was calm now, its waves lapping at the shore as if mocking him. He searched the beach, looking for signs of life—footprints, broken planks, anything—but there was nothing. Just sand and water.

At least he still had his pack. When the ship had gone down, he had managed to keep it strapped to his back. Without it, he would have had nothing. His food supply was limited—some dried meat and bread—and his water skin was half full. He rationed carefully, knowing he would need every drop and bite if he was to survive long enough to find help. The days that followed were harsh. The desert's heat was like nothing Thorfinn had ever experienced. In Kattegat, the sun never burned like this. Even during the summer months, the warmth was mild compared to this. Northumbria had been warmer, but its winds had tempered the sun's strength. Here, there was no escape from the heat. The sun burned his skin, made his eyes sting, and left him drenched in sweat by mid-morning. His clothes clung to him uncomfortably, the fabric rough against his skin.

By noon each day, the heat became unbearable. Thorfinn had to stop and search for shade. There was little to find. Sometimes, he crawled beneath overhanging rocks, pressing himself into the shadow they cast. Other times, he dug shallow pits in the sand to shield himself from the sun. The air was still, offering no relief, and every breath felt heavy and dry. At night, the desert transformed. The heat gave way to a chill that seeped into his bones. He wrapped himself in his cloak and huddled against the cold, staring up at the sky.

His food dwindled faster than he liked. By the fourth day, the bread was gone, and he was down to a few strips of dried meat. The water was worse. No matter how sparingly he drank, the canteen grew lighter with each passing hour. He had started chewing on the leather strap of his pack to distract himself from the dryness in his throat. The desert offered no mercy. Each step became harder, the sand shifting beneath his boots and sapping his strength. His muscles ached, his skin burned, and his head throbbed from the sun. His thoughts turned darker with each passing day. He questioned whether he would ever find Arwyn or Geralt. He wondered if he would die out here, alone and forgotten and never seeing Rebekah or Freydis again.

...

Thorfinn trudged forward his body leaning forward as if the weight of the air itself was trying to drag him down. The sun sat high above him, offering no mercy. His water skin swayed against his side, the precious drops inside barely enough to wet his lips. His throat was too dry to eat, even if he had the strength to lift food to his mouth. Each step felt heavier than the last. His boots sank into the hot sand, his mind felt hazy, his vision blurring slightly. A dune rose ahead of him, taller than the last. He placed one foot in front of the other, dragging himself upward, only for the loose sand to shift beneath him. His balance gave way, and he tumbled down the other side.

He rolled to a stop at the base of the dune, the world spinning around him. Sand clung to his face and clothes. His arms trembled as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. His head drooped, and for a moment, he stayed still, catching his breath.

Then he heard it.

"Thorfinn."

His head snapped up, his heart racing. He blinked and looked around, but the dunes were empty, the horizon stretching endlessly in every direction.

"Thorfinn," the voice called again. It was soft, familiar. He turned his head toward the sound, and in the distance, he saw her—Rebekah. She stood atop a dune, her figure shimmering in the heat. Her hand was outstretched, beckoning him.

"Rebekah!" His voice cracked as he shouted. He tried to run toward her, his legs dragging through the shifting sand. "Wait!" he called again.

The sand made each step harder, and his body resisted his efforts. He stumbled and fell forward, catching himself with his hands. His breathing was ragged, and when he looked up again, she was gone. "Rebekah!" he shouted once more, his voice carrying a desperate edge. He pushed himself up and staggered forward, scanning the horizon. There was no sign of her.

The days blurred together as Thorfinn continued. His water skin ran dry, the last few drops swallowed in a futile attempt to quench his thirst. His tongue felt swollen, his lips cracked. He walked aimlessly, the desert stretching on with no end in sight.

He saw her again. Not Rebekah this time, but Hild. She stood farther away, her back to him, her long hair swaying in the breeze.

"Hild!" he called out, his voice hoarse. He tried to run toward her, but his legs gave out. He fell forward, landing hard. When he looked up, she was gone. His head sank into the sand, his shoulders heaving.

"Thorfinn," a mocking voice whispered.

He raised his head, his teeth clenched. Dahlia stood before him, her expression one of cruel amusement. She smiled, her eyes gleaming with malice.

"You're weak," she said, her voice calm but laced with venom. "Is this the great warrior who sought revenge? Who sought to defy me?"

Thorfinn growled, reaching for his sword. He drew it with trembling hands and stumbled forward, swinging with all the strength he could muster. The blade cut through empty air. Dahlia was gone. His momentum carried him forward, and he tumbled down another dune.

He groaned as he hit the bottom, rolling onto his back. His eyes shut tightly as he let out a shaky breath. His body felt broken, his mind frayed. He turned his head, spotting a rock that cast a small shadow. With what little strength he had left, he crawled toward it. Reaching the shade, he collapsed, rolling onto his back.

His breathing was shallow, each inhale scraping against his raw throat. His thoughts were heavy, slow. He realized this was where it would end. The desert would take him, his revenge unfulfilled. Hild would never be avenged. Morgyn would never be found. He would never marry Rebekah, never see Freydis grow.

"You look like death," a voice said.

His eyes opened slowly, his vision blurry at first, but he forced himself to focus. Eowyn knelt beside him, she held a cloth in her hand, dabbing it across his sweat-soaked brow.

"Why are you here?" he rasped. His voice was dry and cracked, barely above a whisper.

Eowyn's expression didn't change. "I should ask you the same," she said, her tone even. "Is this where you thought your path would lead?"

Thorfinn swallowed, his throat aching. "I thought I'd see vengeance before I died," he muttered. "Not this."

Eowyn tilted her head slightly, studying him. "Vengeance has led you here, is this what you wanted?"

Thorfinn glared at her. "I don't regret my choices."

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his defiance. "Don't you? Then why am I here? Why do I exist in your mind at all?"

He tried to sit up but fell back, the effort draining. "You're a ghost," he spat. "A trick of the desert or my failing mind."

"Perhaps," she said softly. "Or perhaps I'm the part of you that you've been running from."

Thorfinn clenched his fists, his gaze hard. "I don't run. Not from my enemies, and not from you."

Eowyn leaned closer, her voice quieter now. "You don't run, Thorfinn, but you bury. You bury everything—your guilt, your fear, your pain. It's why you've survived, but it's also why you're here, alone, dying in a desert."

His jaw tightened, and he turned his head away. "I don't need guilt. Guilt doesn't build kingdoms."

"No," she said, her voice unwavering. "But it destroys them."

Thorfinn was silent for a moment, his breathing heavy. "What do you want from me, Eowyn? To confess? To apologize?"

Eowyn shook her head. "I don't want anything from you. Maybe it's not me who needs something."

He looked back at her, his eyes narrowing. "I've done what I had to do. I've taken what was mine. That's how the world works."

"Is it?" she asked. "Or is that just what you tell yourself?"

"I don't need to justify myself to you," he snapped. "I took you because you were mine to take. I killed your family because they stood against me."

Eowyn didn't flinch. Her gaze stayed on him, steady and searching. "And did you feel nothing? Not even when I died?"

Thorfinn hesitated, the memory of her burning flashing through his mind. He forced it away, shaking his head. "I didn't kill you. The Druids did."

"And you never stopped them," she replied sharply. "You didn't make it in time, you let me and your child die, were you afraid of them? why didn't you come?"

His throat tightened, and for the first time, he struggled to find words. "I was not afraid! They were cowards," he said finally. "It wasn't supposed to end like that."

"No," she said, her voice softer now. "It wasn't. But it did. And you've carried that weight ever since, whether you admit it or not."

Thorfinn closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "What difference does it make? You're gone. Nothing changes that."

Eowyn leaned closer, her voice quiet but firm. "The difference is what you do with what's left."

He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. "And what if I don't care?"

"But I don't think that's true. Not entirely. You cared for me once, didn't you?" She asked.

Thorfinn's face hardened, but there was a flicker of hesitation. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "Maybe."

Eowyn nodded slowly. "I wonder if perhaps things were different I would've joined you with my sister, and right now you'd be holding your child instead of dying under a rock."

Thorfinn considered that possibility, he had done so many times after her death, about the child he'd never have, maybe even the love that he lost. He stared at her, his mind racing. "What happens next?"

"That's up to you," she said, standing. As she stepped back, her form began to fade. Thorfinn reached out instinctively, his fingers grasping at the air. "Eowyn," he said, his voice hoarse.

Her voice echoed as she disappeared. "Don't bury this, don't bury me. Face it."

He lay there for a long moment, staring at the sky. Slowly, he forced himself to sit up, his body aching. He groaned as he pushed himself up from the rocky ground. His arms shook under his weight, but he forced himself upright. Sand stuck to his sweat-soaked skin as he swayed on unsteady legs, looking out across the desert. The rock's shade had given him only a brief reprieve, but it wasn't enough. The air burned in his lungs with every breath, but he still got up, he refused to let this be where he died.

He began walking again, dragging his feet through the dunes. His throat was raw, each swallow painful as he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.

"Freyr, gefðu mér styrk. Gefðu mér kraft til að halda áfram. Gefðu mér tækifæri til að hefna mín og vernda fjölskyldu mína."

(Freyja, grant me strength. Grant me the power to continue. Grant me the chance to seek vengeance and see my family again.)

The words were constantly spoken even when his vision was blurring. His hands shook, gripping the straps of his pack as he forced himself to keep moving. Every step felt heavier, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. After some time, he noticed a glint in the distance, a flicker of light that danced across the dunes. His cracked lips parted slightly, hope flaring for the first time in days. It had to be water. It had to be.

He stumbled forward, his pace quickening despite the burning in his legs. The glint grew brighter, the promise of life driving him forward. "Water," he muttered.

But as he neared the source, his hope shattered. The glint of light wasn't water but the reflection of sunlight off something unnatural. The surface shimmered, blending with the sand and sky. His eyes squinted as he tried to make sense of the sight.

The ground beneath him shifted, and before he could react, the sand erupted. From the dune rose a massive scorpion, its body covered in scales so clear they reflected the world around it. The creature's pincers clicked loudly, and its towering stinger loomed over him like a spear poised to strike. Thorfinn's eyes widened. He jumped back instinctively, his footing slipping on the unstable dune. He tumbled down the slope, rolling to a stop at the base just as the scorpion's stinger slammed into the spot he had stood moments before.

Gritting his teeth, Thorfinn drew his sword. His hand trembled as he raised it, his grip unsteady. The scorpion clicked its pincers again and advanced, moving with speed that belied its size. Thorfinn's breath came in short gasps as he circled, trying to keep his distance. The scorpion lunged. Thorfinn ducked beneath the swipe of its pincers, swinging his sword toward its leg. The blade glanced off its hard scales, barely leaving a mark. The creature retaliated, its tail whipping toward him. He rolled to the side, sand flying as the stinger struck the ground where he had been.

He tried to counter, slashing at the creature's exposed underbelly, but his strikes were weak. His arms felt heavy, and his vision swam. He staggered as the scorpion's claw caught his side, throwing him back into the sand. The impact knocked the wind from him, and he struggled to rise. The scorpion loomed over him, its stinger raised high. Thorfinn gritted his teeth and tried to lift his sword again, but his arm felt like lead. The stinger came down, piercing through his shoulder. He let out a guttural cry as pain exploded through him. He fell to the ground, his sword slipping from his grasp. The world blurred around him as he lay there, his body refusing to move. The venom from the sting burned through his veins, and he could feel his strength leaving him. The scorpion raised its stinger again, ready to finish him off.

Suddenly, a spear flew through the air, striking the scorpion's eye. The creature let out a shrill screech, thrashing violently. Another spear followed, embedding itself in its body. The scorpion convulsed, its tail lashing out wildly before it collapsed onto the sand, its movements slowing until it was still.

Thorfinn groaned as he tried to push himself back, his body screaming in protest. His vision darkened at the edges as he fell onto his back. The last thing he saw was a figure approaching, their voice calling his name before everything went black.

___________________________

Rebekah sat by the fire, holding Freydis close. The room was quiet except for the soft crackling of the flames. Freydis reached out, laughing, as Rebekah smiled down at her. Thorfinn stood in the doorway, watching them. For a moment, everything felt right. He stepped forward, his boots tapping against the wooden floor, but something was off.

The fire began to dim, the warmth fading. Freydis's laughter stopped. Thorfinn froze as a cold breeze swept through the room. Rebekah's smile disappeared, replaced by fear. She clutched Freydis tighter as a shadow stretched across the wall.

"You can't protect them forever," a voice whispered.

Thorfinn turned, and there she was—Dahlia. Her face was calm, but her eyes were sharp, full of malice. She reached toward Rebekah.

"No!" Thorfinn yelled, moving to stop her, but the distance between them seemed to stretch. He ran harder, but his steps felt heavy, as though he was sinking into the floor.

Dahlia's hand rested on Rebekah's shoulder. Rebekah screamed, and in an instant, she and Freydis were gone. The room grew darker. The fire was out. Thorfinn spun around, his chest tight, but there was nothing but shadows. Dahlia's laughter echoed around him.

"You'll fail them, like you've failed everyone else," she said, her voice surrounding him.

Thorfinn shouted, his voice raw, but the shadows swallowed him whole.

...

Thorfinn woke up gasping. He sat up quickly, his hand reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. His heart raced, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He blinked, trying to shake the nightmare, but the images of Rebekah and Freydis lingered. For a moment, he thought he still heard Dahlia's laugh.

His breathing slowed as he looked around. He wasn't in the desert anymore. He touched the ground beneath him—soft, not sand. He looked up and saw the walls of a tent. The fabric was heavy and patterned, with a small lantern casting a dim light. It smelled of herbs and smoke, faint but noticeable.

Thorfinn swung his legs over the side of the cot, wincing as a sharp pain reminded him of the scorpion's sting. He reached up, feeling the bandages on his shoulder. Someone had tended to his wounds. On a small table nearby, there was a bowl of water and a folded cloth. A jug of water sat beside it. He grabbed the jug, pouring some into the bowl and splashing it on his face. The cold water helped wake him fully. He tried to push himself up, his arms shaking as he forced his body to rise. He took one step toward the tent's entrance before his legs buckled. His body hit the carpeted floor with a thud, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his shoulder. He groaned, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he struggled to move. Before he could try again, the flap of the tent opened, and a woman stepped inside.

She carried a jug in her hands, filled with milk and honey. Her movements stopped when she saw him sprawled on the ground. She spoke quickly in a language he didn't recognize, her tone urgent. Setting the jug aside, she crossed the space lowering herself to kneel beside him. Her hands gripped his arms firmly but without hurting him as she pulled him up. Her touch was warm against his skin as she hoisted him to his feet and guided him back toward the bed.

The woman had striking features, unlike anyone he had seen before. Her skin was a dark shade—darker than he'd ever seen—smooth and unmarred, her eyes dark. Her face was angular, her nose and jaw sharp but not harsh. Her black hair was pulled back into numerous thin braids, cascading over her shoulders as she worked. Her frame was lean but she looked strong. She adjusted her grip, her hand pressing briefly against his uninjured arm as she helped him sit down on the bed.

She said something again, her tone softening now that he was seated. Thorfinn met her gaze but could only shake his head in confusion. His shoulder throbbed as she turned her attention to it, undoing the bandage carefully. She unwound the fabric, exposing the wound beneath. He winced as the cool air touched the tender flesh. Her hands paused briefly, then she reached for a small jar on the table nearby. Dipping her fingers into the paste inside, she applied it to the wound. The sting made him hiss, but he bit down on the pain, watching her work.

Her hands moved quickly as she applied the poultice, spreading it evenly before taking a clean bandage and wrapping it around his shoulder, her fingers securing the bandage tightly but not uncomfortably. Thorfinn could see the efficiency in her actions, as though she had done this countless times before. When she finished, she leaned back slightly, meeting his eyes as she said something else he didn't understand.

He tried to speak. "Do you know French?" he asked, his voice rough. She tilted her head but didn't respond.

"Latin?" he tried next. Still, no recognition. He frowned. "Norse tongue?"

Nothing.

Frustration crept into his expression as he searched his mind for another language. He thought of the little Arabic he had learned during his time training. A trader from Spain had taught him basic phrases, and though he never had time to expand his knowledge, he hoped it was enough. "Hal tatahaddath al-arabiya?" (Do you speak Arabic?) he asked, his pronunciation hesitant.

The woman stopped, her body still as she studied him. Finally, she tilted her head slightly and replied, "Anta tatahaddath lughat al-tujjar." (You speak the trader's tongue.)

"A little," Thorfinn said, his tone steady despite the effort it took to form the words.

Her expression shifted, the faintest hint of approval crossing her features. "Good that will help," she said plainly. She stood, and picked up the jug of milk and honey. She poured a small amount into a cup and handed it to him. "Drink," she instructed. He accepted the cup and drank, it felt soothing to his throat.

After finishing his drink she took the cup from him before putting it on the table. He shifted slightly in the bed, his muscles still weak and his shoulder throbbing with a persistent ache. His eyes narrowed as he considered Sira's words, trying to piece together everything she had just told him.

"What is your name?" he asked, his voice rasping.

She smiled. "My name is Sira," she replied, setting the poultice aside.

He went to introduce himself, but she raised her hand gently. "I know of your name, Thorfinn the Northman."

His body tensed. He wondered if she was an enemy. His gaze hardened, but before he could speak, Sira placed a hand on his arm.

"I apologize," she said softly, her tone sincere. "Your wife informed us of your name."

Thorfinn's frown deepened as confusion spread across his face. Then, his eyes widened. 'Wife?' He thought quickly. 'They must mean Arwyn.'

"You found Arwyn? Where is she?" he demanded, trying to push himself up.

Sira stopped him, her hand firm against his chest. "She is safe," she assured him. "She is being treated as a guest of honor. You must not worry."

"A guest of honor?" Thorfinn asked, the confusion only growing. He leaned back against the pillows, his brows furrowed.

Sira nodded. "You are in the caravan of the great Kaya Maghan, the Ghana, the warrior king, Dinga Dyabe," she said, her voice laced with reverence.

Thorfinn processed the name. He had never heard of this figure before. "Where are we going?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

"We are making the great journey to find the City of Stars," she said, her tone filled with awe.

The information overwhelmed Thorfinn. The throbbing in his shoulder didn't help. He winced as he shifted, trying to make sense of everything.

"You must rest," Sira said, adjusting the poultice on his shoulder. "It is already a miracle that you survived the Kèlè Ngana."

Thorfinn's head tilted slightly. "Kèlè Ngana?" he asked.

"In simple words it would be, mirror scorpion," Sira explained. "Its venom is certain death. You must not move too much. Even now, your body is still fighting it."

Thorfinn nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling in. He let out a long breath and laid back against the pillows. His eyes closed, the exhaustion too much to fight any longer. Before he drifted off, the image of Arwyn, alive and safe, brought him a moment of relief.

...

Thorfinn opened his eyes slowly, his body still heavy with exhaustion. The dim light of the tent greeted him, filtering through the fabric walls. He blinked a few times, his vision clearing as he tried to orient himself. The ache in his shoulder had dulled but was still present. He pushed himself up slightly, resting on his elbows. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed someone sitting nearby. Arwyn was there, her back straight as she leaned slightly against the small table in the tent. She wasn't dressed in her usual clothing. Instead, she wore a loose, sleeveless dress made from finely woven fabric, the vibrant gold and red colors contrasting with her pale skin. Her shoulders were bare, the dress held up by thin straps that revealed the sharp lines of her collarbones and the slope of her upper chest. The fabric draped over her form, outlining the curve of her hips and the subtle definition of her thighs beneath the loose skirt.

Her arms were resting lightly on her knees, her hands relaxed. Her hands, though smaller than his, looked strong, the fingers calloused from years of wielding a hoe. Her hair, usually tied back carelessly, was styled differently. The strands were parted and fell neatly down her back, the ends brushing against the exposed skin of her upper back. Thorfinn's gaze moved upward, noting the sharp angles of her face. Her jawline was narrow, her cheekbones high, and her pale green eyes seemed brighter in the dim light. Her lips, often pressed into a frown or smirk, were slightly parted as she looked down at the cup in her hands. The dress revealed her neck fully, her slender throat visible as she tilted her head slightly, deep in thought. He knew she looked different from the first time he'd met her, but Thorfinn never noticed how much she had changed physically. She was as beautiful as her sister was, nearly as beautiful as Rebekah. 

She shifted slightly, the fabric of the dress sliding over her thighs. The movement was small but noticeable, and Thorfinn couldn't help but take note of how different she looked compared to the times he had seen her in armor or plain travel clothing. There was an elegance to her now, even though her posture was still guarded.

"Finally awake?" Arwyn asked, her voice cutting through the silence. She glanced up, her eyes meeting his. Her gaze was sharp, as usual, though she tried to sound casual there was a faint tone of worry in her voice.

Thorfinn grunted, sitting up fully despite the pull in his shoulder. He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes not leaving her. "You're wearing something new," he said simply.

Arwyn smirked, setting the cup down on the table beside her. "The women here insisted. Said my old clothes not suitable when I am presented to our host."

"It suits you," Thorfinn said, his tone neutral. His eyes lingered briefly on the dress before he looked away, his jaw tightening.

"You think so?" she replied, raising an eyebrow. She stood, the fabric of the dress falling around her legs as she adjusted the straps on her shoulders. "I feel ridiculous in this thing. It's too long. Makes it hard to move."

Thorfinn glanced back at her. "You look fine."

Arwyn rolled her eyes, though she didn't press the matter. She moved to the side of the tent, picking up a pitcher of water. As she poured a small amount into a cup, Thorfinn's gaze followed her. Even in foreign clothing, she carried herself with the same poise she had always shown, like a true shield maiden.

She returned to him, holding out the cup. "Here. Drink this. You look like you're about to pass out again."

Thorfinn took the cup, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. He sipped the water slowly, his throat dry and sore. Arwyn crossed her arms and leaned against the table again, watching him closely.

"You've been out for a while," she said. "You looked like hell when they dragged you in here. Thought you weren't going to make it."

Thorfinn set the cup down, his expression hardening. "I'm still here."

"Barely," Arwyn said, her tone sharp. She tilted her head, her hair falling over one shoulder. "You're lucky we found you when they did. That scorpion would've been the end of you."

"Not the first time I've been lucky," Thorfinn muttered, his gaze meeting hers. He shifted slightly, the bandages on his shoulder pulling as he moved. "Where are we, exactly?" Not that he didn't trust Sira but he would be a fool to trust the world of someone he didn't known.

Arwyn's smirk faded slightly. "Some caravan. They've been taking care of us. Said you were poisoned pretty bad. Took a few days before you even opened your eyes."

Thorfinn frowned, his gaze narrowing. "And you? They didn't try anything?"

Arwyn's smirk returned. "They've been treating me well. Apparently I am a rare beauty."

Thorfinn snorted, leaning back against the pillows. "I'm sure they'd think differently if they could understand you."

Arwyn laughed softly, the sound unfamiliar but not unwelcome. "Get some rest. You're still too weak to do much of anything."

Thorfinn shook his head and pushed himself up from the bed despite the soreness in his body. "I've rested enough," he said, his voice firm. His legs felt weak, but he forced them to steady as he stood. His hand instinctively went to his shoulder, feeling the bandages under his tunic.

Arwyn sighed and crossed her arms, watching him closely. "You're stubborn, as always," she muttered. "If you drop dead, don't expect me to carry you."

Thorfinn ignored her and took a few tentative steps, testing his balance. His movements were stiff, but he managed to keep himself upright. "How far are we from Constantinople?" he asked.

Arwyn shook her head. "I don't know. I can't understand the."

Thorfinn frowned, his brow furrowed. "What about maps? Do they have any?"

"They do," Arwyn replied, her tone flat. "But I couldn't make sense of them. Even if it was a map of home, I doubt I'd know what I was looking at."

Thorfinn sighed, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. He moved to the center of the tent and began stretching his arms and legs. His joints popped as he bent down and touched his toes, then arched his back. The stiffness in his muscles eased slightly, though the movement sent a light sweat across his skin.

Dropping to the floor, Thorfinn started his exercises. He pushed himself into a plank, lowering his chest to the ground before pushing back up. His arms trembled slightly, and his breaths grew heavier. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down his chest. He grunted as he moved through a set of push-ups, then rolled onto his back and began lifting his legs.

Arwyn leaned against the table, her eyes on him. She watched the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex with each movement, the veins in his forearms standing out as he worked through his routine. Her gaze lingered on his chest and abdomen, tracing the lines of his scars and the sheen of sweat on his skin.

For a brief moment, her mind drifted back to a night they had shared months ago, one she had tried not to think about since. The way his body had felt against hers, the heat of his skin, the strength in his movements—it all came rushing back. She flushed slightly and quickly looked away, her face hardening into an annoyed expression.

"Where did you end up after you fell off the ship?" Thorfinn asked, breaking the silence.

Arwyn cleared her throat and shrugged. "I woke up on the beach. Somewhere on the edge of the desert."

"No supplies?" Thorfinn asked, continuing his exercises despite his arms trembling.

"Nothing," Arwyn said. "No water, no food. Just sand and the sun."

Thorfinn stopped and leaned back on his hands, his breathing heavy. "How did you survive?"

"I changed into my wolf form," Arwyn said. Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of pride. "My sense of smell is better that way. I could sniff out insects, dead animals, anything I could eat. I also found these strange plants with spikes all over them. When I broke them open, there was water inside."

Thorfinn grunted and switched to squats, his movements slower now. "And how did you meet these people?"

Arwyn crossed one leg over the other, her arms still folded. "I caught their scent on the wind. Changed back to my normal form and followed it to their camp. They took me in, gave me food and water, washed me, and gave me clothes."

Thorfinn smirked slightly but didn't comment. He pushed himself up from the ground, standing straight despite the slight wobble in his legs. "Why do they think we're married?"

Arwyn's face turned red, her lips tightening. She looked annoyed as she answered. "I thought it'd be easier to convince them to help me search for you if they thought you were my husband. It also kept any of the men from trying to claim me."

Thorfinn chuckled softly, the sound low and brief.

"What's so funny?" Arwyn snapped, her eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," Thorfinn replied, though the slight smirk remained on his face.

Arwyn glared at him but said nothing more. Thorfinn walked back to the bed, sitting down with a faint groan. He reached for the pitcher on the table and poured himself another cup of water, drinking it slowly.

Arwyn stood by the small table in the corner of the tent, arms crossed and her eyes fixed on Thorfinn as he sat on the bed. Her stance was tense, her jaw set. "So? What now?" she asked, her voice low but sharp, as if daring him to suggest something reckless.

Thorfinn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat from the lingering heat of the day. "We stay," he said, meeting her gaze. "For now. We need to figure out where exactly we are, how far we are from Constantinople, and whether these people are allies or something else entirely."

Arwyn tilted her head, studying him. "You trust them that much? Enough to sit here like we're honored guests?"

Thorfinn shook his head. "Trust has nothing to do with it. We're in the middle of the desert. We don't know the terrain, the dangers, or the distance to civilization. Running off would be suicide, and you know it."

She stepped closer, her arms still crossed. "So we're just supposed to wait until they decide what to do with us?"

"Until we know more," Thorfinn said firmly. "Yes."

Arwyn's eyes narrowed. "And Geralt? What if he didn't make it?"

Thorfinn leaned back slightly, rolling his shoulder with a wince. "He's alive. If we survived, he did too. He's resourceful, and he'll know to make his way to Constantinople. He'll expect us to do the same."

"And what if he doesn't?" Arwyn pressed. "What if he's at the bottom of the ocean, and we're just wasting time here?"

Thorfinn stood, facing her fully. "Then we'll get to Constantinople ourselves. We'll find our way, with or without him."

Arwyn snorted. "You make it sound so simple."

"It isn't," he said, his tone calm but firm. "Which is why we need to be cautious. These people have helped us, but we don't know them. Keep your wolf form hidden. Don't give them a reason to ask questions. I'll do the same with my abilities."

Her expression softened slightly, though her stance didn't change. "You don't think they already know what we are, they do seem interested in us?"

"If they do, they haven't said anything yet. Let's keep it that way," Thorfinn replied.

Arwyn nodded after a pause. "Fine. I'll play along. For now."

...

The next few days passed slowly, each one blending into the next as Thorfinn recovered. They shared the bed in the tent as was expected of a married couple, though Arwyn's discomfort was evident. She kept to her side, as if drawing an invisible line between them. Thorfinn didn't comment on it. Sira visited frequently, bringing food and checking his wound. Her amazement at his rapid recovery was obvious, though she rarely said more than a few words. One afternoon, as she finished applying another poultice, Thorfinn decided to press her again.

"Where are we? Can I see a map?" he asked, his voice steady. "How far are we from Constantinople?"

Sira tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Dinga Dyabe will answer all questions you have," she said, her tone polite.

"When?" Thorfinn asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

"Soon," Sira replied. "For now, you must rest."

Thorfinn clenched his jaw but nodded, letting her leave without another word. His frustration grew with every unanswered question. He had stepped outside the tent a few times, only to find two guards stationed there. The camp stretched as far as he could see, a sea of tents under the hot sun. One evening, after finishing their evening meal, Arwyn broke the silence. "You're losing your patience," she said, her voice low.

Thorfinn didn't look at her. "Really?"

"You need to calm down," she continued. "These people saved our lives. We're in no position to make demands."

Thorfinn exhaled sharply. "I don't like being kept in the dark. If they want something from us, they should say it."

"Maybe they're waiting to see if we are worth their time," Arwyn said, leaning back against the bedframe.

He turned to face her, his expression serious. "We aren't toys for them to amuse themselves with."

"We're alive because they helped us. You can glare at the guards and mutter under your breath all you want, but we're still in the middle of a desert. You want to walk out of here on your own?" She asked.

Thorfinn didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't like sitting still."

Arwyn softened, though her voice remained firm. "You're not the only one frustrated. I don't like being watched. But we need these people, at least for now."

Thorfinn nodded slowly. "You're right. We'll wait. For now."

...

Another day passed and the tent was silent except for the faint rustling of the wind outside and the soft crackle of a distant fire. Thorfinn lay on his back, staring at the canopy above them, his hands resting on his chest. His body had almost healed, but the tension in his mind left him restless. Beside him, Arwyn shifted on the bed, her movements subtle but enough to let him know she was awake too.

"Thorfinn," she said quietly, her voice breaking the stillness.

He turned his head slightly toward her, his expression unreadable. "I'm awake."

She hesitated before speaking again. "When they found you in the desert, I was the first one to get to you. You were barely alive, your skin burned, your lips cracked. You kept saying something, whispering over and over."

Thorfinn tensed, his body stiffening as if bracing for what was to come. He didn't answer, waiting for her to finish.

"You called me Eowyn," she said.

His fists clenched at his sides. "I see," he said, his voice tight.

Arwyn turned onto her side, propping her head on her hand to look at him. "Why?" she asked.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I was dying of thirst, Arwyn. I was stung. Poisoned. You look a lot like your sister."

She didn't reply immediately, watching his profile in the dim light. There was no shift in his tone, no hesitation in his words, yet something felt off. She didn't press him further. Instead, she turned fully to face him, her voice softer now. "Why did you say you were sorry?"

Thorfinn's jaw tightened, and his fists clenched harder, his knuckles turning white. "I don't want to talk about this," he said firmly, rolling onto his side to face away from her.

Arwyn stared at his back. Thorfinn had never shown guilt before, not for anything he'd done to her family or anyone else. He was a man of contradictions. To his people, he was loyal, protective, even kind. To his enemies, he was unrelenting, cruel, and utterly without mercy, he had slain her family without a second thought and taken her sister as a prize. The two sides of him never seemed to intersect, and she had always thought there was no bridge between them. Until now.

She lay on her back, looking up at the canopy, her chest tightening as her thoughts turned to her sister. Eowyn's face was as clear in her mind as it had been the last time she had seen her, tears streaming down her cheeks as she begged Arwyn to leave Bebbanburg with her. She had refused. She had believed in Thorfinn, loved him, trusted him. That belief had cost her sister everything.

"I should've taken Eowyn away," Arwyn said, her voice trembling slightly. "I should've run away with her."

Thorfinn remained silent.

"She asked me, you know," Arwyn continued. "She begged me to leave with her. Back in Bebbanburg. But I refused. I didn't want to leave you."

Thorfinn shifted slightly, though he still didn't face her. She didn't stop.

"I dream about that moment," she said, her voice quieter now. "I'm forced to watch as I refuse her. I see her taken. I try to scream, to tell her I'm sorry, to beg her to let me go with her, but she can't hear me. No matter how loud I scream, she can't hear me."

Her chest rose and fell as she fought to keep her voice steady. "I wish I had gone with her. Maybe she'd still be alive."

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive. She could feel the weight of her words settling in the space between them. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Thorfinn spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You should have."

The words hit her harder than she expected. She turned her head toward him, her eyes searching his back for any sign of what he was feeling. There was nothing to see, but the tone in his voice lingered in her mind. For the first time, she wondered if Thorfinn carried the weight of what happened to Eowyn, even if he refused to show it.

Neither of them spoke again that night.

___________________________

The morning sun filtered through the fabric of the tent as Arwyn sat cross-legged on the bed, her eyes fixed on Thorfinn. He was at the small table, drinking deeply from a clay cup filled with water. She studied his face, his movements, and the tension in his shoulders. Their conversation last night lingered in her mind, replaying his quiet words over and over. She should have. It wasn't like Thorfinn to show regret, and she couldn't tell if it had been guilt or just a cold acknowledgment of the truth. The man she knew rarely dwelled on what he couldn't change.

Thorfinn, meanwhile, seemed to have already moved on. He finished the water with a final swallow and placed the cup down with a faint thud. His focus was elsewhere no. He had no interest in revisiting the conversation, and his body language made that clear. The tent flap opened suddenly, and Sira stepped in, carrying an assortment of folded clothing in her arms. Her expression was warm, her steps light as she approached them. "The Dinga Dyabe wishes to speak with you now," she announced. "Put these cloaks on for now, not many people will have seen you and may find your looks strange."

Thorfinn muttered under his breath, "Finally." He stood, rolling his shoulders as he turned toward her. "Let's go." Before taking the cloaks and donning them.

Sira raised a hand, shaking her head. "Not yet. First, you must be washed and made presentable." She gestured toward the tent flap. "Follow me."

Thorfinn sighed but didn't argue. "Come on," he said to Arwyn, who stood and followed him out of the tent.

The camp outside was alive with activity. The air was filled with voices speaking in a language unfamiliar to him, the rhythmic pounding of tools, and the occasional sound of animals. Thorfinn glanced around, his gaze falling on rows of tents stretching out toward the horizon. Men and women carried goods between them, some leading strange animals that Thorfinn couldn't name. The smell of cooked food wafted faintly in the air. As they walked, Thorfinn's eyes caught sight of a massive creature unlike anything he had ever seen. Its sheer size made him stop in his tracks. The beast was at least five times larger than a horse, its thick hide wrinkled like aged leather. A long snout moved picking up bundles and placing them carefully onto a platform. Its tusks curved outward, gleaming faintly in the sunlight.

Sira noticed his reaction and smiled. "That is an elephant," she explained. "They are strong, intelligent, and capable of carrying great loads. They are valuable companions, though they drink much water."

Thorfinn raised an eyebrow. "Why bring them to the desert, then?"

Sira didn't hesitate. "The Dinga Dyabe has no need to worry about water. He could bring an entire oasis with him if he so wished."

Arwyn tugged on Thorfinn's arm. "What is she saying?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

"She says it's called an elephant. It's smart, strong, and carries heavy loads," Thorfinn replied before glancing back at the massive creature. "And apparently, the Dinga could drain an oasis and bring it with him."

Arwyn frowned. "An oasis? He must have incredible power."

"Or lots of gold," Thorfinn said as they continued following Sira through the bustling camp and into a large tent.

Inside the tent, Sira led Thorfinn and Arwyn to large wooden tubs filled with steaming water. The women around them had skin as dark as the night, their bodies barely covered by thin cloths that clung to their round breasts and wide hips. Their nipples showed through the fabric, their cunts just veiled by the scant material.

Sira commanded, "You will be washed and clothed," before turning and leaving them.

Thorfinn eyed the tubs, his gaze lingering on the round arses and full breasts of the women. He looked over at Arwyn, her arms crossing her chest, her nipples hard against her dress.

"Let's get this over with," Thorfinn said, approaching one of the tubs.

Arwyn followed, her steps slow. A woman with large breasts and a thick waist approached Thorfinn, her movements making her breasts bounce. She placed her hands on him, guiding him to sit on the tub's edge. Thorfinn took off his shirt, showing off his muscled chest. The woman's eyes roamed over him, her lips parting as she started to undress him further.

Another woman, with similarly ample breasts and a narrow waist, moved to Arwyn. She started to remove Arwyn's dress, revealing her pale skin and small breasts, her nipples now visible through her thin undergarment. The woman led Arwyn into the tub, her touch gentle yet firm.

Thorfinn watched Arwyn strip down, showing off her legs and arse. Her skin was light against the dark skin of the women. She stepped into the water, her movements stiff.

As Thorfinn sat in the tub, the heat of the water mixed with the touch of the woman's hands on him. She washed him with a sponge, her breasts brushing his arm, her nipples hard against the cloth. Her hands moved over his chest, down to his stomach, her fingers close to his cock. Across the room, Arwyn was being washed. The woman's hands roamed over Arwyn's breasts, down her stomach, to her thighs, her touch intimate. Arwyn's eyes were shut, her breathing uneven as the woman's hands explored her.

Thorfinn couldn't take his eyes off Arwyn, watching the water play on her skin, her breasts partly underwater, her nipples hard from the touch of the woman's hands. He felt a heat inside him, stirred by the sight and the proximity of these women, their bodies on display, and Arwyn's own response.

The women worked in silence, their hands touching, cleaning, trying to make the experience as pleasurable as possible. Thorfinn felt himself grow hard under the water, the woman attending to him noticed his hard cock, now standing at attention. Her hands, slick with soap and oil, slithered down, her fingers grazing his throbbing shaft. Her eyes locked onto his, a lascivious grin spreading across her face as she gripped him, starting to stroke with a slow, tantalizing rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming; the heat of the water mixed with her slippery touch sent electric pulses through him.

Thorfinn's breath hitched, his gaze darting to Arwyn. She was in the hands of another woman, whose fingers were now teasing between Arwyn's legs. Arwyn's eyes were open, fixed on Thorfinn, her lips parted as soft moans escaped her. The woman with Thorfinn pumped him harder, her other hand gently cupping his heavy balls, her thumb rolling over them in a sensual massage. Thorfinn's hips bucked with her strokes, his eyes never leaving Arwyn. The sight of her, the sounds she made, heightened his own arousal. The woman's hand was incredible, her strokes quickening, her grip now tightening.

Across from him, Arwyn was lost in her own world of pleasure. The woman's fingers plunged into her, her thumb circling Arwyn's swollen nub. Arwyn's hands clutched the tub's edge, her legs spreading wider, her body arching in pure ecstasy. Her moans grew louder, her eyes wide, watching Thorfinn as he watched her. Thorfinn could feel the pressure building, his body tense with the need to explode. The woman's hand was a blur, stroking him with a hunger that matched his own. He could see Arwyn's face contort with pleasure, her body trembling, on the brink of climax. Their eyes locked, sharing a moment of mutual desire.

Then, almost in perfect sync, Thorfinn felt the surge. His cock pulsed in the woman's hand as he came, his seed shooting into the water. At the same moment, Arwyn's body convulsed, her moans turning into a loud cry as she reached her peak, her juices flowing freely into the bathwater. The attendants didn't stop immediately, prolonging their pleasure, milking every last shudder from their bodies. The water around Thorfinn was now cloudy with his cum, and Arwyn's legs still trembled as the woman slowly withdrew her fingers, now moving with a gentle, soothing touch. Once they were clean, the women helped them out of the tubs, their skin slick. They dressed them, their touches lingering, ensuring every bit of cloth was in place.

The attendants then led Thorfinn and Arwyn through the camp towards the tent of the Dinga. Their steps kicked up small clouds of sand, the sun high and bright above them. People moved around the camp going about their business, but their movements slowed as the pair passed. Eyes followed them, the conversations turning into whispers. Thorfinn walked with a slow pace, his shoulders back and his head held high. His pale skin and white hair caught the sunlight, making him stand out in the sea of dark faces. He glanced at the people watching him, noting how some stepped back or averted their gaze entirely. It wasn't fear in their eyes, not exactly—it was something closer to uncertainty.

Arwyn walked beside him, her posture rigid. Her eyes moved over the crowd, scanning for any threats, she didn't like how some of the men leered at her, though she didn't mind the others who looked at her with slight fear. She noticed how many people stared at Thorfinn, how their gazes lingered on him. She frowned slightly, her hand brushing against the fabric of her new clothes as she wasn't entirely comfortable in them.

The path wound through rows of tents, some small and plain, others larger and decorated with bright patterns. The smell of cooking meat wafted through the air, mixed with the sharper scent of sweat and unwashed bodies. As they neared the center of the camp, a tent larger than the rest came into view. Its fabric was deep red with gold stitching along the edges. Tall poles held it upright, and heavy curtains hung over the entrance. Sira stood outside the tent, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She waited until they were close before stepping forward. Her eyes moved to Thorfinn first, then briefly to Arwyn.

"The Dinga Dyabe wishes to speak with you first," she said, her voice calm.

Thorfinn stopped, his expression shifting slightly. "Just me?" he asked.

"Yes," Sira replied. "Your wife will be cared for here while you speak with him."

Thorfinn turned to Arwyn. She looked at him, her mouth pressing into a thin line. "I don't like it," she said quietly, her eyes narrowing.

"Neither do I," he replied, his voice low. "But we both know they couldn't contain you if they tried."

Arwyn crossed her arms. "Fine. Just don't take too long."

Thorfinn nodded, then looked back at Sira. "Let's go."

Sira gestured toward the tent. "Follow me."

Thorfinn stepped forward, pausing briefly at the entrance. He glanced back at Arwyn, who gave him a short nod before shifting her weight and looking off toward the camp. Thorfinn pushed the tent flap aside and stepped inside. The heavy fabric fell back into place, muffling the sounds of the camp outside. Inside the tent, the air was cooler. The ground was covered in thick rugs that felt soft under his boots. Lanterns hung from the poles, their dim light casting faint shadows. At the center of the tent, a man sat cross-legged on a low platform. His robes were layered and adorned with gold and beads.

Thorfinn stepped closer, his eyes scanning the tent for signs of hidden guards or weapons. The absence of either made him uneasy. He could end the life of this man, the supposed leader of these people, with a single strike, and yet the Dinga seemed unconcerned. It felt deliberate, and Thorfinn didn't trust it.

"What is the true value of a man?" the Dinga said in Arabic, his voice deep.

Thorfinn's brow furrowed. The man had not turned around yet, still facing the large board in front of him. His question hung in the air like a challenge. Thorfinn didn't answer as he approached, circling slowly until the Dinga came into view. The Dinga was young, perhaps in his twenty-fifth winter. His features were sharp, his beard neatly trimmed close to his face. His skin, lighter than most of the others Thorfinn had seen, bore a golden undertone. He wore robes of fine fabric, simple yet dignified, and his hands rested on the edge of the board before him—a square grid of sixty-four squares in alternating shades of dark oak and pale yew.

The Dinga turned his gaze up to Thorfinn. "Have you played this game before?" he asked, motioning to the board.

Thorfinn shook his head. "I'm not familiar with it."

The Dinga gestured to the seat on the opposite side of the table. "Sit. I will teach you."

Thorfinn hesitated, then pulled out the chair and sat down. His eyes briefly scanned the pieces on the board, carved figures of different shapes and sizes, each arranged in two opposing armies. He studied their design but said nothing. Dyabe turned a pawn in his fingers, its simple form rougher than the other pieces. "This is the pawn," he said, his voice calm. "The smallest piece on the board. It moves forward, step by step, simple and predictable. It is sacrificed freely, its life considered cheap in the grand scheme. Yet, do you know why the pawn is the most dangerous piece on the board?"

Thorfinn shook his head slightly, watching the Dinga's hands.

"Because it holds the potential to rise above its station," Dyabe continued. "When a pawn crosses the board, it becomes what it chooses—what its player needs. A bishop, a knight, even a queen. From the smallest beginnings comes the power to reshape the game. Not because of its strength, but because of its determination to move forward."

He placed the pawn back on the board, tapping it lightly. "Consider the king," he said, gesturing to the most elaborate piece. "The king is the symbol of power. The goal of the game is to protect him, to ensure his survival. Yet he is the weakest piece. He cannot strike like the rook, leap like the knight, in essence he is not that dissimilar from the pawn. His value lies in perception. People fight for him because they believe in what he represents, not what he can do."

Thorfinn leaned back slightly, watching as the Dinga turned the piece in his hand. "Fascinating, isn't it? How one can assign such arbitrary value to a person."

"This is a game," Thorfinn said with mild annoyance.

Dyabe smiled as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Is it? What of kings and peasants? Nobles and farmers?" he said. "What do you think a person's worth is decided by, their birth? Their riches? Their strength?"

"I have seen men born into palaces, draped in silk and gold, with every advantage one could imagine. Men who believed their value was undeniable, simply because of their title. These men would not lift a hand to help even those who served them, convinced their lives were the only ones that mattered." He picked up a pawn and turned it between his fingers. "I have also seen men born into nothing, with hands calloused from labor, who gave everything they had to protect what they loved. Men who worked themselves to death so their children could live a better life. Which of them do you think held more value?"

Thorfinn shifted in his seat, his eyes locked on Dyabe. The younger man let the question hang in the air for a moment before answering it himself.

"The nobleman died surrounded by those who waited to take what he left behind. The farmer died surrounded by those who loved and mourned him, carrying forward the lessons he taught them. The nobleman had everything, yet left nothing. The farmer had nothing, yet left behind everything that mattered."

Dyabe set the pawn down and reached for the queen, holding it up. "Even this piece, the most powerful on the board, has no value if it serves no purpose. A queen without a cause is just another piece waiting to be knocked down. The same is true of men. The strength of their arm, the sharpness of their mind—none of it matters if they stand for nothing."

He placed the queen back and leaned back slightly, his gaze steady on Thorfinn. "You've killed before. You've looked a man in the eye as his life slipped away. Did you ever wonder who he was to those who loved him? Was he a father? A son? A friend? Or was he nothing more than an obstacle in your way?"

Thorfinn's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak. He didn't like the feeling his words caused, especially not after the conversation with Arwyn the night previous.

"Every piece on the board has potential, even the smallest. A pawn can rise to become something greater, or it can fall, forgotten. The question is not what they were born as, but what they choose to become. Will they become something greater, or will they accept their place and wait to be sacrificed?"

Thorfinn scowled, his annoyance clear. "Why are we talking about such things? If you want to know something, ask directly."

Dyabe smiled, placing a hand over his chest and bowing his head slightly. "Forgive me," he said. "I often get swept away in thought. I find that questions often lead to more questions, and sometimes answers come without asking."

Thorfinn crossed his arms, waiting.

"In truth," Dyabe continued, "I brought you here because I was curious. I have never seen a Northman before, though I have heard tales from travelers. They speak of you as fierce warriors and raiders."

"We are," Thorfinn said bluntly.

Dyabe chuckled lightly. "You don't look much like the stories would suggest. You'd look more at home in my court than on a battlefield. Despite the wariness of my people, I'm certain many think you handsome. Even my own daughter, Sira, does."

Thorfinn's brow lifted slightly. Sira was his daughter? He quickly studied the man before him. How old was he?

Dyabe laughed, clearly aware of Thorfinn's unspoken thoughts. "You must wonder how I could have a daughter like her. I am in my thirty-second summer. My wife bore Sira when I was in my thirteenth."

Thorfinn's face remained neutral. "Why was she given the task of healing me?" he asked.

Dyabe nodded thoughtfully. "Sira is a good judge of character. I trust her judgment above all others. If she believed you were worth speaking to, then I knew it was true."

Dyabe leaned back slightly, his gaze steady. "What of you, Thorfinn? Do you have children?"

Thorfinn hesitated, his jaw tightening briefly before he nodded. "I do."

"Where are they?" Dyabe asked.

"Far away," Thorfinn replied.

Dyabe tilted his head slightly, his curiosity evident. "Why travel so far from them?"

Thorfinn's voice was low, steady. "It is for them that I travel so far."

"I see," Dyabe said, standing up slowly. He walked over to a low table, where a decanter and two cups sat. He poured dark wine into both cups and handed one to Thorfinn.

Thorfinn accepted the cup, though he didn't drink immediately. "I appreciate your people's help," he said. "But we have places to be. If you can point us in the direction of Constantinople and provide enough supplies for the journey, I'm sure we can trade something of value in return."

Dyabe chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I need nothing material from you, Thorfinn. I have more gold than I could ever spend. I could rebuild Constantinople here in this very desert and not dent my wealth."

Thorfinn's brow furrowed slightly. "Then what do you want?"

Dyabe's smile remained. "What I seek from you is more valuable than gold or silver. I want to know you. I want to learn of your life, your gods, your people."

Thorfinn stared at him. "Why?"

Dyabe's tone was calm but unwavering. "Because I seek to understand what I do not know. Knowledge is the greatest treasure there is."

Thorfinn exhaled slowly, considering the man's words. It was a strange request, but not entirely without reason. The offer was tempting. There was much he could learn from Dyabe in return.

"I'll accept your offer," Thorfinn said finally.

Dyabe's smile widened slightly. "Very good." He motioned towards the entrance of the tent. "I had your wife moved to a new tent, next to mine. You'll find it more comfortable than the one you've been staying in. You may go and join her now."

Thorfinn stood and turned to leave, but Dyabe clasped his hand firmly. "I hope we will learn much from each other, Thorfinn the Northman."

Thorfinn nodded once, then exited the tent, walking toward where Arwyn waited.

___________________________

For the next few months, Thorfinn and Arwyn traveled with the Soninke caravan through the desert. The landscape changed often. Some days they walked across endless sand dunes, the heat pressing down on them. Other days, they passed through rocky areas or stopped at small oases where palm trees provided shade. The journey felt strange but manageable.

The food was unlike anything Thorfinn had eaten before. The Soninke prepared spiced meats, sweet breads, and fruits he didn't recognize. The flavors were new but good, and he ate without complaint. The people around him dressed in colorful clothes and jewelry that sparkled in the sun. At night, they gathered around fires, singing songs in a language Thorfinn now understood.

Thorfinn met with Dyabe every day. At first, their talks were formal, but over time they became easier. Dyabe asked many questions about Thorfinn's homeland, his people, and their gods. Thorfinn answered carefully at first, but Dyabe's curiosity wasn't insulting, so he shared more. He spoke of Kattegat, its long winters, the feasts, and the battles. He mentioned the ships they built and the voyages they took. Dyabe shared his own stories. He spoke of distant cities, places with stone streets and towers that reached the sky. He described rivers so wide they looked like seas and lands where the forests were so dense you couldn't see the sun. Thorfinn listened. He didn't know if Dyabe was exaggerating, but the stories were fascinating all the same.

They often played chess during their talks. Dyabe had taught him the rules on their first meeting, and Thorfinn had struggled at first. Dyabe won easily in the beginning, but Thorfinn learned quickly. By the second month, he had started to give Dyabe trouble, even winning a few games. Dyabe seemed to enjoy the challenge, smiling whenever Thorfinn forced him to think longer about his moves.

Arwyn spent much of her time with Sira. She had started learning the Soninke language, but Sira's lessons went beyond words. Sira showed her the dances and customs of their people. In return, Arwyn shared what she knew of her own home in Northumbria. They spent hours together, and Thorfinn noticed Arwyn seemed more relaxed when she returned from these lessons. He didn't ask what they talked about.

Though the days passed smoothly, one thing still bothered Thorfinn. Dyabe spoke often of their destination, the City of Stars, but he never explained what it was.

However something strange happened one day when Thorfinn sat across from Dyabe at their usual spot. The chessboard lay between them, pieces already arranged, though neither of them had made the first move. Dyabe placed three books on the table, sliding them toward Thorfinn. The Northman glanced down at them, frowning slightly as he recognized the Bible.

"I've read this one before," Thorfinn said, his fingers tapping the book's worn cover.

Dyabe raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Have you? That surprises me. What did you think of it?"

Thorfinn's gaze lingered on the Bible. "I read it back in Bebbanburg. I wanted to understand the Christian faith. It didn't leave much of an impression."

Dyabe chuckled softly. "A fair response. And the other two?" He motioned to the remaining books, each bound with care, their covers bearing symbols unfamiliar to Thorfinn.

Thorfinn shrugged. "I've never seen them before. And I'm not sure I care to."

Dyabe's expression softened. "Knowledge is never wasted, my friend. Even if you don't believe in what you read, understanding it can still serve you."

Thorfinn's lips pressed into a thin line. "What do you expect me to gain from this?"

Dyabe leaned back in his chair, his hands resting lightly on the armrests. "Perhaps everything. Perhaps nothing. Read them, and we'll discuss them after." His tone left no room for argument.

Thorfinn sighed and gathered the books, taking them back to his tent. Over the next few days, he read through each one, finding the task both tedious and enlightening in its way. When he finally returned them to Dyabe, his face betrayed no emotion as he placed the books back on the table.

"I've finished," Thorfinn said, sitting down as Dyabe began arranging the chess pieces.

"Good," Dyabe replied. "Let's begin."

They played in silence for several moves before Dyabe broke it. "What did you learn from the books?"

Thorfinn moved a pawn forward and looked up. "They feel similar. It's as if they're all speaking about the same god."

Dyabe laughed, his voice rich with amusement. "Ah, you'd cause a riot with a statement like that. Followers of those books would tear you apart for even suggesting it. But I understand what you mean."

Thorfinn tilted his head slightly. "Then why did you want me to read them?"

Dyabe made his next move, then leaned forward, his gaze steady. "Because I wanted you to understand, and this is what has led me forward."

Thorfinn watched him closely. "Forward to what?"

Dyabe didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood and walked to a table on the side of the tent, where various treasures were displayed—rings, goblets, and jewels. He picked up a golden ring, turning it in his fingers.

"Do you know how much wealth I have, Thorfinn?" Dyabe asked, his voice quieter now. "More than I could ever spend. Gold, jewels, artifacts—more than most kings could dream of. I've built libraries, mosques, and temples for my people. I've raised monuments and funded expeditions. Yet none of it has filled the void within me."

Thorfinn said nothing, his eyes following Dyabe's every movement as the man tossed the ring onto the floor. It clattered briefly before coming to a stop. "It means nothing when the spirit is empty," Dyabe said, his voice firmer now. "I sought answers in my own faith. I prayed, fasted, and studied. Yet I found nothing. So I turned to other religions, other ideas. Still, the emptiness remained."

He moved to a chest draped in velvet and uncovered a stone tablet etched with ancient markings. Carrying it carefully, he placed it on the table before Thorfinn. "Until I found this."

Thorfinn leaned forward, studying the tablet. The markings were strange, carved crudely, but unlike anything he had seen before. "What is it?" he asked.

Dyabe rested his hand on the tablet. "One of my scholars found this in the desert. They believe it's written in the root language—the language from which all others descend."

Thorfinn frowned. "The root of all languages? How is that possible?"

Dyabe's lips curled into a faint smile. "Consider the possibility, my friend. It took years to translate this. I brought in the finest minds from across the world, linguists and scholars who dedicated themselves to unlocking its meaning."

Thorfinn tapped the table. "And what does it say?"

Dyabe's gaze darkened as he traced a finger along the tablet's surface. "It speaks of the first city. The City of Enoch. A paradise built in the likeness of Eden. It was said to be a place where man walked hand in hand with the divine, where all of humanity lived as one before being scattered."

Thorfinn leaned back slightly. "Sounds no different than the stories in these books," he said, gesturing toward the Bible and the other texts.

Dyabe nodded. "You're right. This tablet alone is no different. It is simply what set me on my journey."

Thorfinn narrowed his eyes. "What journey?"

Dyabe's voice softened as he looked Thorfinn in the eye. "To find Eden. To find God."

"If there is one place that will hold the location of Eden it is Enoch, the City of Cain."

The words hung in the air. Thorfinn considered them carefully. He didn't think Dyabe foolish, though the idea seemed impossible. He had met a god before, or so he believed—Freyr, who had saved him from drowning. The memory lingered in his mind, an experience he couldn't deny. "It seems pointless," Thorfinn said finally. "Even if Eden is real, you'd have to find Enoch first. And who knows where that is?"

Dyabe smiled. "My friend, I have already found Enoch."

Thorfinn straightened in his chair, his expression sharp with interest. "What? How?"

Dyabe returned to the chest, pulling out a scroll. He unrolled it on the table, revealing a map. His finger pointed to a location deep in the Sahara. "It began with the second city. There is far more written about it than the first. The Greeks called it Atlantis. A scholar named Plato described it—a city of concentric rings of land and water, said to rival the gods in its beauty."

Thorfinn studied the map, his brow furrowing. "And you think Atlantis was built atop Enoch?"

Dyabe nodded. "Yes, many writings describe that the second city was built atop the first after god flooded the world."

"The descriptions of Atlantis match a place in the Sahara—the Eye of the Sahara. When my scholars investigated, they found ruins buried beneath the sand. Ruins that predate any civilization we know."

Thorfinn's interest deepened. "And what did you find there?"

Dyabe's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Evidence of a city. The remnants of something vast, something rest seems to be sealed in a firmament, and is well intact. In one week, we will arrive. In one week, we will enter the city and uncover its secrets."

Dyabe placed a firm hand on Thorfinn's shoulder, his grip steady. "We will walk where the first men once walked, after which we will find the path to Eden."

Thorfinn said nothing, his mind racing. He didn't know what they would find, but the thought of entering a city buried for thousands of years stirred something in him. After a long pause, he nodded. "We'll see," he said simply.

Dyabe smiled, releasing his grip. "Prepare yourself, Thorfinn. The journey is just beginning."

___________________________

Arwyn lay back on the bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin. The pillows beneath her head were soft and made her feel more comfortable than she'd been since leaving Kattegat. She was wearing the traditional Soninke outfit that Sira had chosen for her earlier that day. The blue robe fit snugly and comfortably, while the bright skirt allowed her to move freely. She tugged at it absently, still adjusting to how different it felt from the heavier fabrics she was used to. It wasn't bad—just unfamiliar.

Sira sat beside her, cross-legged on the bed. Her own clothing was similar, though the dark, rich fabric seemed to reflect the firelight that seeped into the tent from outside. Gold jewelry adorned her wrists and neck, catching the light whenever she moved. Her headscarf framed her face neatly, her posture calm and assured as she poured tea into two small cups. She passed one to Arwyn, smiling warmly.

"You've grown more comfortable here," Sira said, her tone light. "The first few days, you looked like you were ready to bite someone."

Arwyn smirked, taking the cup. "I've been in worse situations."

"I'm sure you have," Sira replied, her smile lingering. "Do you like the food?"

"It's different," Arwyn said after a sip of tea. "Spicy, but good. I've never tasted spices like this before."

"That's good to hear," Sira said, settling more into the cushions. "We take pride in our food. It's part of who we are."

Arwyn nodded, her gaze drifting toward the tent's patterned walls. "The music is good too. It makes you want to move. It's not like the music where I'm from." The hymns they would hear the few times they went to Bebbengburg when she was younger were much more solemn.

Sira chuckled. "We love our music. It's at the heart of every celebration. Everyone dances, sings, or plays something. It's how we stay connected."

Arwyn thought about the nights spent around the fire, the drums, and the lively dances. "Your people are... close. It's different where I come from. People keep to themselves more."

Sira tilted her head slightly. "Do you like it? Being around so many people?"

"It's not bad," Arwyn admitted. "It's... loud, but everyone seems happy."

Sira smiled at that. "We share our happiness. It's how we live. What about Thorfinn? Does he enjoy it?"

Arwyn hesitated, thinking about how Thorfinn interacted with others. "He's not the type to sing or dance. He prefers quiet. He observes."

Sira seemed amused. "He watches while others enjoy themselves?"

"He's cautious," Arwyn said, choosing her words carefully. She thought about how Thorfinn often kept people at arm's length, how his sharpness came out more often than not. She didn't want to share too much with Sira.

Sira leaned forward, her tone turning playful. "What about you two? How is he... with you?"

Arwyn glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"

Sira smirked. "In bed. Is he as quiet and cautious as he seems?"

Arwyn felt heat rush to her face. "That's... private."

Sira laughed softly. "I'm curious. He's strong, isn't he? Does he act like it?"

Arwyn sighed, looking away. "He's passionate," she said after a pause, her voice quieter. Though in truth she didn't want to answer because remembering the nights with him that she used to share often made her loins stir.

Sira raised an eyebrow. "Passionate can mean a lot of things. Gentle? Rough?"

Arwyn's lips tightened. "Both."

Sira's grin widened, but her tone was still light. "I see. You're lucky, then."

Arwyn shook her head, wanting to change the subject, but Sira kept watching her. Finally, Arwyn looked her in the eye. "Why are you so interested?"

Sira hesitated, then spoke openly. "I like him. I think he's... intriguing."

Arwyn's gaze sharpened. "You like him?"

"I do," Sira said, unflinching. "But I wouldn't act without your permission."

Arwyn frowned, confused. "Why would you need my permission?"

Sira tilted her head, studying Arwyn carefully before answering. "Here, you're like his first wife. It would be disrespectful for me to approach him without your blessing."

Arwyn blinked, her confusion growing. It felt strange to hear Sira say that, and stranger still to remember that she herself had claimed to be Thorfinn's wife. She had forgotten about it entirely. At the time, it seemed like the easiest way to avoid complications, but now the idea of being seen as Thorfinn's wife felt laughable. The woman Thorfinn wanted to marry was half a world away, he would take no other wife before he did so. It also felt strange to her that Sira would even ask. Thorfinn had always been with multiple women, something she'd have found abhorrent before she met him. That had changed over time. She didn't even think about it anymore. It just seems natural.

"What if I said no?" Arwyn asked, her tone even.

Sira shrugged lightly, her bracelets jingling. "Then I would respect your choice. But I thought it was only fair to ask."

Arwyn set her cup down, leaning back against the pillows. She didn't know what to say. The whole idea seemed so far removed from her reality. Still, she couldn't help but feel a small surge of protectiveness. Whatever her thoughts about Thorfinn were, she didn't like the idea of anyone else stepping into his life. It felt like this journey was theirs and she found herself not wanting to share it with anyone else. 'Why do I care,' She thought to herself.

"You're an honest woman," Arwyn said finally, her voice steady.

Sira smiled. "Honesty is important. Especially between women."

They kept talking about different things for a while before Sira's eyes lit up with sudden realization. "Wait here," she said, springing up, her jewelry tinkling like small bells as she hurried towards the tent's entrance. Arwyn sat up, her gaze following Sira, the tent feeling eerily quiet without her chatter. She leaned back against the plush cushions, her fingers tracing the silk sheet's edge, her mind swirling with curiosity and a touch of apprehension about what Sira might bring back.

Sira returned shortly, a thick, leather-bound book in her hands. "I just remembered this," she announced with a grin, sitting back down and gently placing the book on her lap. "I acquired it a while ago, a traveler from India gave it to me. It's written in their tongue, but I can read it. I thought it might entertain you."

"Why would I find it entertaining?" Arwyn inquired, her interest piqued.

Sira chuckled. "You'll see soon enough. Don't fret, I'll read it to you."

Before Arwyn could protest, Sira lay down beside her, their shoulders pressed together. The warmth of Sira's body, the faint scent of exotic spices, filled Arwyn's senses, making her acutely aware of her own body's reactions. Sira opened the book, her voice adopting a sweet sound as she began to read. At first, it was a tale of forbidden love, but the narrative soon shifted to something much more carnal. Sira's voice was steady, reading out loud about the lovers' lustful gazes, the way their hands explored each other's bodies with an unabashed hunger.

"He took her in his arms," Sira read, "and his hands roamed over her breasts, kneading them with a desire that made her moan. His fingers found her nipples, pinching them until they stood hard and proud."

Arwyn's cheeks burned, her hands gripping the silk sheet tightly. The explicit language was unlike anything she'd ever heard, the descriptions sending waves of warmth through her body, her legs rubbing together in a mix of discomfort and arousal.

"You're turning as red as the setting sun," Sira teased, her eyes dancing with amusement as she continued.

"I never knew they wrote such... such lewd things," Arwyn said, her voice a whisper, embarrassment mingling with fascination.

"It's common where it comes from," Sira explained. "Such tales let people live out their fantasies, their yearnings for fleshly delights. Here, listen to this part," she said, turning the page. "He parted her thighs, feasting his eyes on her womanly parts, and his tongue delved into her, tasting her sweetness, driving her wild with pleasure."

Arwyn felt her breath hitch, the vivid imagery causing a stir within her, her body responding in ways she hadn't anticipated. She tried to look away, to distract herself from the sensations, but Sira's voice was like a spell.

"Are you finding this to your liking?" Sira's voice was light, almost teasing.

"I... I'm not sure," Arwyn stuttered, her body tense with a mix of shock and something else she couldn't quite name. "It's... so very different."

Sira laughed softly, pausing her reading for a moment. "It's only a tale, Arwyn. But your blushing tells me you feel the heat of it. That's life, feeling. That's what counts."

Arwyn was at a loss for words, her mind racing as she tried to steady her breathing, but Sira's nearness only intensified the sensations.

"Shall I continue?" Sira's tone was playful, almost seductive.

Arwyn, after a moment's hesitation, nodded, her voice caught in her throat. Sira smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief as she opened the book again. Her voice was now a low, seductive murmur as she read on, detailing how "he thrust into her, their bodies moving in a primal dance, each thrust sending her closer to the edge of ecstasy."

Sira explained further, "His member was hard as steel, and she took him deep, her cries filling the night as she surrendered to the pleasure of their union."

Arwyn's mind was afire with the images, her body reacting in ways that thrilled her. Arwyn's body was tense, her cheeks warm as she listened, unsure of why she hadn't asked Sira to stop. The closeness between them only amplified the strange tension that had built, and Arwyn could feel her pulse quicken with every word.

Suddenly, the tent flap was pushed aside, and Thorfinn walked in, his presence cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. Both women froze. Arwyn immediately jumped up from the cushions, her cheeks red. Sira slammed the book shut and clutched it tightly to her chest, a faint pink creeping across her face. They exchanged a quick, almost guilty glance. Thorfinn stopped just inside, his sharp eyes scanning the two of them. He frowned slightly, noting their expressions. "You're both flushed. Are you well?"

Arwyn's mouth opened and closed for a moment before she found her voice. "We're fine," she said quickly, brushing her hair back and avoiding his gaze. "Just... warm in here."

Sira nodded, her hands still gripping the book. "Yes, it's the heat," she added with a small, nervous laugh. "It gets stifling in the tent sometimes."

Thorfinn's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze flicking to the book Sira held protectively. "Hmm." He didn't seem entirely convinced.

Arwyn's shoulders tensed. "It's nothing," she said, her tone defensive. "Sira was just... reading something to me."

"Reading what?" Thorfinn asked, stepping further into the tent.

Sira quickly rose to her feet, holding the book firmly against her chest. "Nothing of importance," she said with a polite smile. "I should be going anyway. I'll leave you two to talk."

Without waiting for further questions, Sira gave a quick nod and walked toward the tent's entrance. "I'll see you later, Arwyn," she said over her shoulder before slipping outside, leaving a faint trace of her perfume behind.

Thorfinn watched her go before turning back to Arwyn, his frown deepening. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Arwyn replied firmly, sitting back down on the cushions and keeping her eyes on the floor. "It's like she said. She was reading something, that's all."

"You're acting strange," he said, sitting down across from her, his tone suspicious. "What kind of book was it?"

"Just... a story," Arwyn muttered, her face heating again. "Nothing that concerns you."

Thorfinn leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze not leaving her. "You both looked ready to faint when I walked in. Doesn't seem like 'nothing' to me."

"It was nothing," Arwyn snapped, her tone more forceful than she intended. She sighed and ran a hand over her face, trying to compose herself. "What did Dyabe want?"

Thorfinn let the topic drop, though his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he replied. "He told me more about where we're going," he said, his voice even. "The ruins we're heading to are more than just old stones. He believes they're connected to Enoch, the first city of mankind."

Arwyn blinked, surprised. "The first city?"

"He claims it's a place where the earliest people lived, a city built in the image of Eden itself. He's convinced it's real, and he says he's found it." Thorfinn explained.

Arwyn's eyes widened. "Eden, the paradise Adam and Eve resided in! Do you believe him!?"

Thorfinn shrugged. "He's not a fool, and he's got resources. He wouldn't waste his time chasing something he didn't think was real. Whether it's truly the first city or not, I don't know. But if it's important enough for him to lead a caravan this size, it's worth seeing."

Thorfinn rubbed the back of his neck and let out a breath. "I'm tired. I'm going to rest," he said. He sank down, stretching out his legs and leaning back. His eyes closed almost immediately, his body heavy with exhaustion.

Arwyn stayed where she was. "I'll do the same," she said after a moment. She lay down, pulling the thin blanket over her as she faced the opposite direction. The sound of Thorfinn shifting slightly and settling into a deeper rhythm of breathing filled the tent.

She closed her eyes, but her mind refused to follow. Images from earlier flashed in her head. The story Sira had read, the way her voice had carried each word so easily, the heat in her own body as she listened—it all replayed again and again. She turned over, shifting to try to find a more comfortable position, but it didn't help. Her body felt tense, her legs restless as she pressed them together beneath the blanket.

Her eyes opened, staring into the faint shadows on the canvas above. She thought about the story again. She turned again, her breathing shallow, her cheeks warm as she tried to push the thoughts away. Thorfinn, lying across the tent, had already fallen into a deep sleep. His breathing was even, his body still except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. Arwyn felt a small pang of envy at how easily he could rest, his mind seemingly unaffected by anything. She knew she wouldn't be sleeping for a while or at least until she could cool the burning she felt inside her.

...

Thorfinn woke up in the night, his senses alert. The tent was silent except for the wind outside. He blinked, adjusting to the dim light.

Then he saw her.

Arwyn was on top of him, her hands on his chest. Her face was flushed, her breathing heavy. She avoided his eyes, her hair falling over her face. Her body pressed down on him, her thighs around his hips.

"Arwyn," he said, his voice low. His muscles tensed, but he didn't push her away. "What are you doing?"

She didn't answer at first, her lips parting, her gaze flicking to him then away. "This means nothing," she whispered.

He could feel her heat against him, her arousal clear through her thin nightclothes. His cock hardened, pressing up against her.

Her hand moved down, tracing the outline of his erection, her breath catching. "Is this what you want?" Thorfinn asked.

She bit her lip, nodding slightly, rubbing herself against him. Arwyn, her breath ragged, undid Thorfinn's trousers and pulled out his hard cock. It had been a while since she'd seen it, and the sight made her mouth water. She licked the tip, tasting the salty precum. It was musky and sharp, like she remembered.

Thorfinn felt her warm mouth engulf him, her lips sliding down his shaft. She sucked with a gentle pressure at first, her tongue swirling around the head, then she took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. The wet sounds of her mouth on him filled the tent, her saliva making his cock slick. His balls tightened with the pleasure of it, each suck sending shivers up his spine. His hands went to her hair, feeling her head move up and down. Arwyn moaned softly around his cock, the vibrations driving him wild. She felt his hardness, the way he pulsed in her mouth. Each drop of precum was like a signal of his arousal, and she couldn't get enough of it.

Pulling back, her lips were shiny, swollen from the effort. She stood up, lifting her nightdress to show her slender body, small breasts with hard nipples, and toned muscles. She straddled him again, her pussy just above his cock, ready to feel him inside her after so long without. Arwyn felt the heat of Thorfinn's cock against her. She was wet, her body eager for him after such a long absence. Slowly, she lowered herself, guiding him into her. The sensation of him stretching her was intense, a mix of pleasure and fullness that made her gasp.

Thorfinn groaned as he felt her warmth envelop him, her tightness gripping him like a vice. It had been too long, and the sensation was almost overwhelming. He watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut, her expression a mix of pleasure and relief.

Arwyn started to move, her hips rocking back and forth, finding a rhythm. Each movement made her clit brush against his pelvis, sending sparks of pleasure through her. Thorfinn's hands moved to her hips, helping to guide her, feeling the muscles of her thighs work with each rise and fall.

She moaned louder now, the sounds filling the tent, her small breasts bouncing slightly with each thrust. Thorfinn could see how her nipples had hardened further, a sign of her arousal. He reached up, thumbing one, feeling how she responded with a shiver, her movements becoming more desperate.

The pace quickened, her breath coming in short pants. Thorfinn could feel himself nearing the edge, the tightness of her around him, the sounds she made, all pushing him closer to climax. Arwyn leaned forward, her hands on his chest for support, her hair falling around them like a curtain, creating an intimate world where only they existed.

Her movements became urgent, her body seeking release. Thorfinn felt the tension in her, the way her muscles started to clench around him. She was close, so close, and he wanted nothing more than to feel her cum around him. With a final, shuddering thrust, Arwyn's body tensed, her orgasm hitting her like a wave. She cried out, her inner walls contracting around him, pulling him over the edge with her. Thorfinn followed, his release coming in strong, pulsing waves, filling her as they both rode out the sensations.

Breathing heavily, Arwyn collapsed onto his chest, their bodies slick with sweat, the aftershocks of their climax still rippling through them. She lay on Thorfinn's chest, her body bare and warm against his. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath her, his breath calm, though neither of them spoke.

Her hair spilled across his skin, and she could hear the faint rhythm of his heartbeat. She hadn't felt this good in a long time, she never thought she'd miss doing this with Thorfinn, not after she started hating him. She thought about moving, about putting some space between them, but her body refused to obey. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind clouded in a haze of weariness. Her eyes closed slowly. She thought she might only rest for a moment, but as her breathing slowed, she found herself drifting off entirely, her head still on his chest, her body unwilling to leave his warmth.

___________________________

The caravan moved steadily, the sand shifting under the feet of camels and workers. Thorfinn rode at the front beside Dyabe, the air dry but cooler than he had expected in the early morning. His camel's steady walk had become familiar over the past weeks, though he still felt slightly off balance with every step. He glanced at Dyabe, who looked calm as ever, his eyes fixed on the horizon. They were nearing the end of their journey. Thorfinn could feel it in the way Dyabe carried himself, more focused than usual, though he said little. The rest of the caravan followed in silence, save for the occasional murmurs or the creak of wagons carrying supplies and tools.

"Do you see it yet?" Dyabe asked, his voice breaking the quiet.

Thorfinn scanned the horizon, his sharp eyes picking out shapes in the distance. At first, it was nothing but dunes and the endless expanse of sand. However after they came upon the next rise he saw it—a massive ringed structure that seemed to carve into the earth itself. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, its circular patterns stretching outward in perfect symmetry.

"Incredible..." Thorfinn said, his voice low.

"The Eye of the Sahara," Dyabe said, his tone carrying pride. "The heart of the desert."

As they descended the ridge, the camp surrounding the Eye came into view. Tents stretched out in all directions, a sprawling settlement with thousands of people. Workers moved between scaffolding and pits, their voices blending with the sound of tools striking stone. Smoke from fires rose into the air, and at the center of it all was the dig site itself—massive, with workers disappearing into the ground and through caverns they dug. .

Thorfinn's jaw tightened as he took it all in. "You've been busy."

"Years of preparation, months of work," Dyabe replied. "And we are just beginning."

Thorfinn said nothing, his eyes drawn to the dig site. He could see teams of men and women hauling stone slabs, some of them carved with unfamiliar markings. The scale of the operation was overwhelming, even to someone like him who had travelled more than most. They reached the edge of the camp, where a group of workers waited to greet them. Dyabe dismounted, handing his reins to an attendant. Thorfinn followed, his legs stiff from the ride. He looked around, noting the stares from the workers. His pale skin and white hair stood out even more here than they had in the caravan.

"They think you're a spirit," Dyabe said with a small chuckle. "An otherworldly presence among mortals."

Thorfinn ignored the comment, his focus on the camp. He spotted scholars bent over tables covered in scrolls and clay tablets, their voices heated as they debated. Nearby, a group of guards stood watch over a wagon filled with tools and supplies.

"Follow me," Dyabe said, leading him through the camp.

Thorfinn glanced back briefly. He could see Arwyn further down the line, her camel led by one of the workers. She looked as out of place as he did, her pale features stark against the sea of dark-skinned workers. She met his gaze briefly, giving him a nod, before her attention turned back to the caravan behind her. As they walked through the camp, Thorfinn noticed a massive stone slab being hauled out of the ground. Workers strained against ropes and pulleys, their muscles taut as they lifted the heavy object. It was covered in strange carvings, the symbols intricate and unfamiliar.

Dyabe noticed his interest. "That's one of many. Each piece tells a story if you know how to read it."

Thorfinn frowned. "And do you?"

"Not entirely," Dyabe admitted. "That's why I have scholars. But even they struggle. The language is old, similar to the first language but with some differences."

They continued toward the center of the camp, where the largest tent stood. Workers moved aside as Dyabe passed, their heads bowing slightly in respect. Thorfinn followed, his thoughts racing. Whatever lay beneath the Eye, it was clear that Dyabe believed it held answers—answers Thorfinn wasn't sure he wanted. If Eden was real what would it mean, he knew the gods existed, his gods existed. He also couldn't disregard the sign he had seen in Bebbenburg. What would it mean for both faiths to be right.

As they reached the tent, Dyabe stopped, turning to Thorfinn. "This is where we rest and plan. You'll find everything you need here."

Thorfinn nodded, then Dyabe placed a hand on Thorfinn's shoulder. "Come. There is much to discuss."

Dyabe led Thorfinn to a larger m tent set apart from the others. As they entered, Thorfinn noticed a table at the center covered with objects he didn't recognize. Strange devices made of polished metals, some gleaming even under the muted light. Others were translucent, like glass, with intricate designs running through them. Thin metal and tubes coiled around each other in patterns that looked deliberate but served no purpose he could guess.

Dyabe gestured to the table, his voice calm but tinged with excitement. "These are a few of the things we've unearthed. Tools, machines, remnants of something far beyond what we understand."

Thorfinn picked up a small device that fit easily in his palm. It was light, cool to the touch, and emitted a faint hum as he turned it over. "What does it do?" he asked.

Dyabe shook his head. "We don't know. None of this makes sense to us. Look at this." He reached for a curved piece of metal and set it on the table. "This piece? It doesn't rust. It doesn't bend under pressure. My scholars think it's an alloy, but not one we can replicate. It's as if these people mastered techniques we've barely begun to imagine."

Thorfinn placed the device back on the table, his fingers brushing over another object. It was a smooth orb, partially transparent, with what looked like a liquid swirling inside. "And this?"

Dyabe smiled. "We call it the Eye. It reacts to heat, light, and even touch, but beyond that? It's a mystery. My scholars say it's likely decorative, yet I doubt that."

Thorfinn frowned, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "It's strange. This isn't like anything I've seen."

"Nor I," Dyabe admitted. He stepped back, folding his arms. "Imagine a civilization capable of creating these things. A people who lived long before us, yet thrived in ways we can't comprehend. If this is what they left behind, what does that say about us?"

Before Thorfinn could answer, Dyabe turned to one of the servants standing by the tent's entrance. "Summon the foremen. I want a report on the dig."

The servant nodded and left swiftly. Dyabe returned his focus to the artifacts, his hand tracing the edge of the strange orb. Thorfinn stood silently, his thoughts swirling. The objects were unnerving in their complexity. They made him feel small, as if all he had ever learned was insignificant compared to the people who had once created these things.

Moments later, the tent flap opened, and three men stepped inside. Their clothes were stained with dirt, and they looked hot and exhausted. They bowed their heads briefly before standing at attention.

Dyabe motioned for them to speak. "What progress have you made?"

One of the foremen stepped forward, his voice steady. "We've reached a structure, Your Grace. It's unlike anything we've encountered before. The material—it's... impervious. Our pickaxes and tools barely scratch it, and when they do, the damage is minimal."

"How close are you to breaking through?" Dyabe asked, his tone calm yet commanding.

The foreman hesitated. "We're close, but it's slow work. The tools wear down faster than usual, we estimate another day, maybe two, before we can create an opening."

Dyabe's face lit with satisfaction. "Good. I want to be there when you break through. Send for me the moment it happens."

One of the foremen shifted uncomfortably. "Your Grace, with respect, it may not be safe. We don't know what's inside. It could be unstable, or worse."

Dyabe raised a hand, silencing him. His tone remained steady, but there was no room for argument. "I appreciate your concern, but I'll be there. I've waited too long for this moment to stay behind now."

He turned to Thorfinn. "Will you join me?"

Thorfinn nodded without hesitation. "Of course. I'm just as interested as you."

Dyabe smiled. "Then it's settled. Go back to your work," he said, dismissing the foremen. The men bowed again before leaving the tent. As the flap closed behind them, Dyabe exhaled and glanced at Thorfinn. "We stand on the edge of discovery, my friend. Whatever lies within that structure will change everything."

Dyabe looked at Thorfinn, his expression calm. "You should rest," he said, placing a hand lightly on the table. "Tomorrow will be eventful, and you'll need your strength."

Thorfinn frowned slightly, his thoughts still on the artifacts spread before them. "I've been through worse without sleep."

Dyabe chuckled quietly. "Perhaps, but this isn't a battlefield. What lies ahead requires clarity, not just strength. Take my advice—rest."

Thorfinn met his gaze for a moment before nodding. "Fine. I'll take your advice."

Dyabe gave a slight nod of approval. "Good. My servants will ensure you're undisturbed." He motioned toward the tent's entrance. "You'll find your way back, I'm sure."

Thorfinn left the tent, the cool night air much more bwreable than the heat of the day. The camp was quiet, the distant hum of workers faint now as they all settled in. As he walked toward his own tent, his mind turned to the dig site. The artifacts they'd uncovered were unlike anything he had ever seen, and the thought of what might be inside the structure left an excitement in his chest that he hadn't felt since discovering the library in Bebbenburg.

When he reached the tent, Arwyn was already lying on her side, her back to the entrance. She didn't stir as he stepped inside. Thorfinn lay down on the bedding, his hands resting on his stomach. He stared at the ceiling for a moment before speaking.

"Tomorrow, we'll likely go into the structure they've found."

Arwyn shifted slightly on her side, her back to him. After a moment, she turned to face him, her expression neutral. "How long is this going to go on?" she asked. "When do we start making our way to Constantinople? Geralt won't wait forever."

Thorfinn exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. "We'll leave soon," he said. "I'll ask Dyabe for a guide."

"And if he says no?" she asked.

"He won't," Thorfinn said. "I'll make sure of it. I just want to see this through first."

Arwyn nodded faintly but didn't say anything else. She turned back onto her side, pulling the blanket closer to her. Thorfinn lay quietly for a moment, then spoke again.

"Do you want to talk about what happened a week ago?"

Arwyn tensed for a moment. "No," she said plainly.

Thorfinn didn't reply. He lay still, staring up at the ceiling, before closing his eyes. The silence in the tent lingered until sleep came for them both.

...

The next morning, Thorfinn woke early as light began to fill the tent. He sat up and glanced toward Arwyn. She lay on her side, her back to him, the blanket covering her shoulders. He stood and dressed, pulling on his gear . The camp was already moving when he stepped outside. Workers carried supplies and tools, preparing for the day ahead. Thorfinn walked toward Dyabe's tent. The guards standing outside watched him but said nothing. He stopped as a servant stepped inside to announce his arrival.

Dyabe sat cross-legged on a cushioned mat, a tray of food laid out before him—flatbreads, fruits, and a pot of steaming tea. He waved Thorfinn over.

"Come, eat. We have a long day ahead," Dyabe said, pouring tea into a small clay cup and handing it to him.

Thorfinn sat down and took the cup, the scent of spices hitting him. He sipped it, nodding slightly in approval. He reached for a piece of flatbread and began eating, his eyes scanning the tent briefly.

"Have they broken through yet," Thorfinn asked between bites.

Dyabe nodded. "They're close. In a few hours, we'll break through." He paused, studying Thorfinn. "You seem restless."

Thorfinn looked up. "I wanted to speak with you about something."

Dyabe gestured for him to continue, chewing on a date.

"I need supplies and a guide to Constantinople," Thorfinn said. "We've stayed longer than we planned. There are people waiting for us."

Dyabe's expression shifted, the easy warmth replaced by something more thoughtful. He set his food down and leaned back slightly. "You've been good company, Thorfinn. It's rare to find someone I can have these conversations with. I had hoped you'd stay longer."

Thorfinn considered his words, nodding slightly. "I've enjoyed our talks too. You've taught me things I never thought I'd learn. I'll carry that with me. But we have a purpose, and people depending on us."

Dyabe sighed, picking up his tea and swirling it slowly. "You're a man of duty. I respect that. Still, there's more to see here, more to understand."

Thorfinn leaned forward slightly. "I'm curious about this place too, but our journey can't wait forever. Arwyn and I have someone we need to find."

Dyabe chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're as stubborn as you are sharp. I can't fault you for that." He motioned to one of the attendants standing nearby. "Make sure Thorfinn and his wife are provided with everything they need for their journey. The best guide, the best supplies."

The servant nodded and left the tent. Dyabe turned his gaze back to Thorfinn. "When will you leave?"

"Soon. After we see what's beneath that structure," Thorfinn replied.

Dyabe smiled faintly. "Then let's make today count. Once you leave, I suspect it will be a long time before I meet another like you."

Thorfinn smirked slightly. "If your people keep digging up ancient cities, I'm sure you'll find someone even more curious than me."

Dyabe laughed. "Perhaps. Though I doubt they'll be as blunt."

The two finished their meal, the conversation lightening. By the time they stood to leave, Thorfinn felt a strange sense of finality settling over him. As they walked out of the tent and into the sunlight, Dyabe clapped him on the shoulder.

"Let's uncover history today, my friend," Dyabe said.

Thorfinn nodded. "Let's."

The two fo them moved toward the dig site, the morning sun high above. Thorfinn walked beside Dyabe, both of them silent for a time. Though around halfway Sira and Arwyn caught up, their robes brushing the dusty ground.

"I couldn't stay behind," Sira sai. "I'm as interested in this as you are, Father."

Dyabe chuckled, glancing back at her. "You've always been curious. Perhaps too curious at times."

Thorfinn smirked faintly, glancing over his shoulder. "A good trait to have."

Sira smiled at him, her eyes looking his body up and down. Arwyn stayed quiet, her gaze shifting between the workers ahead and the towering dunes in the distance. The dig site loomed closer, an expanse of sand and exposed rock carved deep into the earth. Dozens of workers moved about, hammering, hauling, and shouting commands to one another.

As they reached the edge of the site, Dyabe gestured for everyone to stop. "This entire area used to be buried beneath the sand," he said, his voice steady. "Many months of digging, scraping, and searching have uncovered this. What you see now is just the surface."

Thorfinn peered down into the excavation. The pit stretched far below, its walls jagged and uneven, carved by months of relentless labor. Workers swarmed around a massive structure embedded in the earth. The surface was smooth, stone, and unlike anything Thorfinn had seen before.

Dyabe's excitement was clear as he descended a wooden platform leading to the bottom. Thorfinn followed, his boots kicking up loose dirt. The sound of hammers striking stone grew louder as they approached the workers clustered around the structure.

Dyabe turned to Sira before they reached the bottom. "Stay back," he told her firmly. "It's dangerous here."

Sira frowned but nodded. "Be careful," she said.

Thorfinn glanced at Arwyn, who stood beside Sira. "Watch her," he muttered to Arwyn, who gave him a small nod.

At the base, Dyabe strode forward, his robes trailing behind him. He called for the foreman, a grizzled man covered in dust. "How long?" Dyabe asked, his tone commanding.

The foreman wiped his brow with a cloth. "Not long now," he said. "The surface is starting to give. Just a few more strikes."

Dyabe's eyes lit up, and he turned to Thorfinn. "We're close."

Thorfinn clapped him on the shoulder. "Why don't we join them?" he said. "It feels fitting."

Dyabe grinned, his usual composure giving way to pure enthusiasm. "A fine idea." He barked an order to the workers, who quickly handed over two pickaxes.

The two men joined the group, Dyabe was a big man and he was strong, his strikes reflected that. The stone surface groaned under the assault, reverberating through the pit. Dyabe's excitement grew with each swing. "We're breaking through," he said, his voice almost a shout. The foreman called for the workers to step back as the final strikes landed. Thorfinn and Dyabe pulled back, both catching their breath. The structure gave a low creak before a section of the surface buckled inward.

The groan of stone was followed by a deafening crash. The ground beneath them shifted suddenly, collapsing as a massive cavern revealed itself below. Workers screamed as the edge of the pit crumbled. Several men fell, their cries silenced as they disappeared into the darkness. Thorfinn acted without thinking, leaping toward Dyabe and tackling him to the ground as the edge gave way beneath their feet. They landed hard, the impact jarring. Dust and debris filled the air.

Dyabe coughed, pushing himself up. "Thorfinn," he said, his voice unsteady. "You saved me, thank you."

Thorfinn grunted, brushing dirt from his tunic. "You're welcome," he said with a chuckle.

The two men moved cautiously to the edge, peering into the cavern below. Dyabe's breath caught in his throat as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The cavern was vast, its size insane, the structure they'd just broken through seemed to be a massive dome that covered what look like an entire city. Structures stretched out in every direction, their shapes broken and jagged. Metallic towers lay toppled, bridges crumbled, and pathways twisted like mazes. Strange lights flickered faintly in the darkness.

Dyabe's voice was barely a whisper. "The city..." he said. "It's here."

Thorfinn narrowed his eyes, scanning the ruins. "This is it?"

Dyabe didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the city below, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. Finally, he spoke. "The Second City," he said. "Atlantis."

The foreman and workers stood in stunned silence, their faces pale as they stared into the depths. Sira and Arwyn approached cautiously, their eyes widening as they took in the scene.

Thorfinn exhaled slowly. "So this is what you've been digging for, what will lead you to Eden."

Dyabe nodded, his hand gripping Thorfinn's arm. "This is only the beginning," he said. "We've found it. And now, we will uncover its secrets." Dyabe straightened, brushing the dust off his robes. His voice cut through the stunned silence. "Lower ropes immediately. Construct a way down. Begin building a base camp in the cavern. I want it done quickly."

The foreman snapped out of his daze and began barking orders to the workers. Men scrambled to gather supplies, ropes, and pulleys while others moved debris away from the edges of the pit. A flurry of activity erupted as Dyabe turned to Sira, who had rushed closer.

"Father, are you hurt?" Sira's voice trembled slightly as she placed a hand on his arm, her eyes scanning him for any sign of injury.

Dyabe smiled, his usual calm demeanor returning. "Do not worry, my daughter. I am unharmed, thanks to our Northman here."

Sira's gaze flicked to Thorfinn, who was leaning against a rock, dusting off his tunic. She offered him a small smile. "You saved him."

Thorfinn grunted, shrugging off her gratitude. "Wasn't going to let him fall."

Sira nodded but kept her focus on her father. "You should still rest. That collapse could have killed you."

Dyabe shook his head. "There is no time to rest. We have found something extraordinary. I must see it for myself."

Sira frowned but didn't argue, stepping back as Dyabe turned his attention back to the workers.

Arwyn approached Thorfinn, her expression unreadable. "You all right?" she asked, her tone neutral.

Thorfinn glanced at her, noticing the way she kept her distance. "Fine," he said simply, brushing more dirt from his arms.

She nodded curtly, her eyes flicking over him quickly before stepping back. "Good," was all she said before moving to stand closer to Sira. Thorfinn watched her for a moment, frowning slightly at her coldness, but he said nothing. His attention turned back to the workers as they began lowering ropes into the cavern. Dyabe walked to the edge, peering down at the ruins below.

"You still plan to go down there today?" Thorfinn asked, stepping beside him.

Dyabe nodded. "Of course. What lies below could reshape our understanding of everything. It is my duty... no my destiny to see it through."

"I thought perhaps we would find a structure or two, but to see a whole city preserved like this under the stand, its trly incredible," Dyabe said as he continued to stare down into the cavern.

Sira crossed her arms, looking down into the massive cavern. "Father are you sure? You don't even know what's down there."

"That is precisely why we must go," Dyabe said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He then looked over to Thorfinn, "MY Friend tell me are you not curious."

Thorfinn didn't respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the city below. Before a smile broke out on his face. "Curious enough," he admitted finally.

Dyabe's expression grew serious. "You've already risked your life once for this. If you do not wish to go further, I won't force you."

Thorfinn scoffed lightly. "I'll go. I didn't come all this way to stand at the edge."

Dyabe clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. I wouldn't want to do this without you."

As the ropes were secured and a crude pulley system assembled, the workers began lowering the first of the supplies into the cavern. Dyabe turned to his foreman. "Ensure everything is stabilized. I will not risk another collapse."

The foreman nodded, moving to oversee the preparations.

Sira approached her father again, her brow furrowed. "Do you need to go down there yourself?" She asked.

Dyabe looked at her, his expression softening. "This is what I've worked for, Sira. I cannot stay behind."

She hesitated, then sighed. "Just be careful."

He smiled at her. "Always."

Arwyn stayed back, watching the exchange before glancing at Thorfinn. He met her gaze briefly, but she turned away before either could say anything. Thorfinn exhaled quietly, his focus returning to the people around him. He wanted to talk to Arwyn about the night they shared; he'd even asked her multiple times, but she didn't want to hear of it, as if she wanted to forget it ever happened. It was a shame—he did care for Arwyn, even if she didn't return the same feelings.

The sun passed the peak of its height by the time the platform with the pulleys was ready. Dyabe insisted they be the first ones down. Thorfinn, Dyabe, and two of his personal guards stepped onto the platform. It was shaky, though Dyabe assured them that the wood was strong. That did little to reassure Thorfinn, given the long drop below. If the platform gave way, the sharp rocks on the cavern floor would reduce him to a smear.

"Are you ready, my friend?" Dyabe asked, squeezing Thorfinn's shoulder.

"Let's go," Thorfinn replied with a faint smile. At Dyabe's signal, the workers began lowering the platform into the cavern. Thorfinn glanced upward, catching sight of Arwyn. She stood at the edge of the site, arms crossed, her expression tense with worry. He offered her a brief smile, trying to reassure her, before turning his focus forward.

As they descended, the air grew colder. A shiver ran up Thorfinn's spine. The chill felt unnatural, a sharp contrast to the desert heat above. Even the coldest nights in Kattegat hadn't felt like this. Dyabe and his guards felt it too, rubbing their arms and shifting uncomfortably as their breaths turned to mist.

"Such a chill," Dyabe muttered, his voice carrying a note of surprise as he exhaled into the frosty air.

Thorfinn frowned, flexing his fingers to keep them moving. The cold wasn't the only thing that made him uneasy. There was something here, something he couldn't see but could feel. A deep, steady thrumming in his chest that felt like a warning. He kept his thoughts to himself, glancing toward Dyabe, who seemed oblivious to anything but the city below. Thorfinn's mind turned to the dome itself. It was an engineering marvel beyond anything he'd ever seen. He wondered why it was built—was it meant to shield the city from the sun? Or was it a tomb, sealing something away? Either way, the craftsmanship was astounding. The people who built this place must have been unmatched in their mastery of stonework, surpassing even the Romans.

"I can feel it, my friend," Dyabe said, gripping Thorfinn's arm.

Thorfinn turned to him. Dyabe's face was alight with a mix of joy and sadness.

Thorfinn's brow furrowed. "Are you well?"

Dyabe nodded, though his eyes brimmed with tears. "I feared my life would lack meaning. That the void in my heart would never be filled. That I would be remembered as a lesser son of greater forebears."

Dyabe's voice softened as he looked at the city below. "I feared this was all for nothing. That I would be remembered as Dyabe the Foolish."

Thorfinn stayed silent, letting Dyabe speak.

"But we are here," Dyabe said, his tone firm now. "And I will be remembered as the Ghana who brought his people to God."

Thorfinn gave a slight nod. He was glad for Dyabe's success, but he couldn't share his excitement. The gods had their own ways of revealing themselves, and Thorfinn saw no reason to chase after them—especially not a foreign god he knew nothing about. The platform jolted slightly as it hit the ground. Thorfinn steadied himself before stepping off, following Dyabe and the two guards. Dyabe paused, his gaze sweeping over the city as he stepped onto the ancient stone floor.

"No man has stepped in this city for ten thousand years," Dyabe said quietly.

Thorfinn joined him, his boots echoing faintly on the stone. He glanced around, taking in the surroundings. The city was vast, its buildings towering and unfamiliar to anything he'd ever seen. They were made of a dark, polished material that gleamed faintly in the cold light. Some structures had sharp, angular designs, while others were curved and smooth. Openings that might have been windows lined the walls, though they were empty, with no sign of coverings. The streets were wide and paved with hexagonal stones that fit together perfectly, with no cracks or signs of wear despite the passage of time. In the distance, a massive tower loomed, its base wide and its height disappearing into the shadows of the dome above.

Dyabe moved forward as he took it all in. Thorfinn stayed close, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The guards followed behind, their eyes darting nervously. Throfinn wondered if they could feel the wrongness of this place as he could.

Dyabe exhaled deeply. "It is more magnificent than I imagined," he said, almost to himself.

Thorfinn didn't respond. His gaze was drawn to the symbols carved into the buildings. They were intricate, forming patterns that seemed to move if he stared too long. That thrumming feeling was stronger now, deep in his chest. It felt like the city itself was alive, watching them. Dyabe stopped and turned to Thorfinn, his expression calm but full of purpose. "This is only the beginning," he said. "There is so much more to uncover." Dyabe pulled sharply on the rope of the platform, the signal for the men above to begin pulling it back up. "Now they can start bringing the others down," he said. "We'll establish a base here." He turned toward Thorfinn, his eyes gleaming. "We may have found Atlantis, but our true destination is Enoch. And to reach it, we'll need to dig deeper."

Thorfinn said nothing, glancing around at the massive cavern. His unease hadn't faded, but he followed Dyabe's lead as the man walked toward one of the wide streets stretching into the heart of the city. Behind them, the guards exchanged looks of concern. One of them stepped forward. "My Ghana, it could be unsafe. We don't know what's down here. Let us investigate first."

Dyabe turned back to the guard with a wide grin. "Unsafe?" He gestured to the city around them. "I've survived coming this far, have I not? Do you think god would let me die now, so close to the truth? No he has lead me here, he waits for me to greet him." He waved them off dismissively. "Stay here and focus on making camp. Prepare for the others. Thorfinn and I will explore the city."

"My Ghana, please—" one of the guards started, but Dyabe cut him off with a laugh.

"I appreciate your concern, but I am not a child in need of coddling." He clapped Thorfinn on the back. "Let's go, my friend."

Thorfinn gave the guards a brief glance but said nothing, following Dyabe as he began striding down the wide street. The city seemed endless. Towering buildings flanked them, their surfaces polished and reflective. Dyabe reached out and ran his fingers over one of the walls as they passed, marveling at the smooth, cold material. "What kind of stone is this?" he mused aloud. "It's unlike anything I've ever seen."

"It's not natural," Thorfinn said, his voice low. He didn't like how the surface seemed to shimmer when touched, almost as if it reacted to them. He wanted to feel excited to be in a place such as this, such an advanced and ancient city. But in truth he couldn't help the feeling of dread that seemed to build the further they went into the city.

Dyabe's pace slowed as they neared a central plaza. In the middle of the open space stood a massive obelisk, its surface etched with symbols similar to those on the walls. Dyabe approached it, his eyes wide with wonder. "Do you see this?" he asked, running his hand over the carvings. Thorfinn stayed a few paces back, his gaze scanning their surroundings. Something about this place felt too perfect, too untouched. It was as if time had stopped here, preserving it in a way that didn't seem natural.

Dyabe turned back to him, his excitement undiminished. "Can you feel it, Thorfinn?."

Thorfinn shook his head slightly. "I feel something, I wouldn't say it was good," he commented.

Dyabe laughed. "You are too cautious, my friend. This is a place of wonders, not dangers."

Thorfinn didn't argue. He kept his hand near the hilt of his sword as they continued deeper into the city, the obelisk fading behind them. Dyabe pressed forward his eyes darting from building to building, taking in every detail. They came to a halt at the edge of another wide street, where several smaller paths branched off. "Let's split up," Dyabe said. "Cover more ground. We'll meet back at camp before the sun sets."

Thorfinn frowned but nodded, letting his hand fall away from the hilt of his sword. "I don't think that's wise."

Dyabe laughed, a broad grin splitting his face. "Thorfinn, this place has been sealed for ten thousand years. There is nothing down here but us. Now stop worrying and enjoy this beautiful city with me." He gave Thorfinn a final pat on the shoulder before turning and heading down a nearby street.

Thorfinn watched him disappear before sighing and heading off in the opposite direction. Dyabe's confidence was reassuring, but Thorfinn couldn't shake the unease that lingered in his gut. He pushed the feeling aside and focused on the structures around him. For hours, he explored the ruins, moving through streets that seemed to stretch endlessly. Many of the buildings were crumbling, their walls scorched or cracked, but others remained almost pristine. Thorfinn stepped into one of the smaller structures and found strange objects scattered across the floors. There were metal tools that glinted unnaturally even in the dim light, glass containers filled with long-dried substances, and shards of something that resembled crystal. One shard pulsed faintly when he picked it up, but the light faded quickly. He turned it over in his hand, trying to make sense of it before slipping it into his pack.

Further down the road, he found a larger building, its entrance flanked by carved pillars. It stood taller than the others and was adorned with intricate designs that wrapped around its walls like vines. The interior was expansive, with high ceilings and carvings etched into the stone above. Thorfinn moved cautiously through the space, running his fingers over the carvings as he passed. A glint caught his eye. Embedded into one of the walls was a crystal similar to the one he'd seen in Dyabe's camp above ground. This one was larger, with jagged edges that shimmered faintly in the low light. Thorfinn reached out and touched it, and the moment his hand made contact he felt magic drain out of him the same way it did when he cast a spell, and a pulse ran through the room. He stepped back quickly as blue lines spread outward from the crystal, tracing the carvings on the walls and ceiling. The air around him began to warm, chasing away the chill that had clung to his skin since entering the cavern.

Thorfinn stared at the glowing lines, his confusion mounting. He'd never seen anything like it. The room, once frigid, now felt comfortably warm. Shaking his head, he moved further into the building, searching for anything else of interest. In what appeared to be a personal chamber, Thorfinn found two books lying on a low stone table. Their covers were made of a material he didn't recognize, and the pages inside were covered in symbols he couldn't read. He recognized the language from some of Dyabe's artifacts and slid the books into his pack. He couldn't read them now, but he'd learned languages before. He could learn this one, too.

On the top floor, Thorfinn entered what looked like a library. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and scrolls. Most were decayed beyond recognition, but one immediately caught his attention. It sat inside a glass case, its cover gleaming gold. Thorfinn broke the case open with the hilt of his sword and pulled the book free. Its cover was solid gold, and the pages inside were lined with golden writing. He traced the edges of the pages with his fingers, knowing instantly that this was something Dyabe would want. He slipped the book into his pack. It was his now, and he'd fight anyone who said otherwise.

Before leaving, his eyes landed on a shield mounted above what appeared to be a fireplace. It was round and simple, its surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. Thorfinn reached up and pulled it down. It was lighter than it looked, almost weightless in his hands. He frowned and struck it with the hilt of his sword. The shield didn't dent or scratch. He hit it again, harder this time, but the material held firm. At first he thought it was too light to be functional and that it was a mere decorative piece, but he was wrong. Thorfinn grinned, testing its surface once more. He didn't know what this material was, but it was unlike anything he'd encountered before. If it could be replicated, it would be invaluable. He turned the shield over and noticed a small button on the handle. Pressing it, he nearly jumped as the shield folded in on itself until it was no larger than his wrist. He stared at it, fascinated, before sliding it into his pack.

Satisfied with his findings, Thorfinn left the building and stepped back onto the street. The distant sounds of shouting and talking reached his ears, likely the workers and soldiers setting up camp. He had spent hours exploring, and the day was slipping away. It was time to find Dyabe. He didn't trust leaving the man alone down here, regardless of the lack of immediate danger. Thorfinn moved quickly through the ruins, his voice echoing as he called out, "Dyabe!" The cavern seemed to swallow his words, and he clenched his fists in frustration. The man could be anywhere, and the sprawling city didn't make the search any easier.

He turned a corner and nearly collided with a group of Dyabe's guards, a dozen of them armed and alert. One of them stepped forward. "Where is the Dinga?" he asked in Soninke.

"We split up," Thorfinn replied evenly. "I'm looking for him now."

The guard frowned, clearly displeased. "He should not wander alone. It is dangerous here."

Thorfinn didn't argue. "Keep searching. I'll keep looking on my end."

The guards exchanged glances but continued on, their boots echoing as they moved down the street. Thorfinn exhaled through his nose and pressed forward. He climbed the steps of a nearby building, heading toward the balcony to get a better view. Once at the top, he leaned on the edge, scanning the vast city below. Hundreds of people were now gathered at the entrance point, setting up a large camp. Soldiers spread out into the city, moving in groups as they scoured the ruins, likely searching for Dyabe.

Seeing the effort being made, Thorfinn felt confident they would find the Dinga soon enough. Turning his attention to the largest structure in the distance, he decided to explore it. The building towered above the others, it must've been where the king resided, he could think of no other explanation. Making his way through the streets, he approached the enormous steps leading up to the structure. Each step was wide enough to fit a dozen men standing side by side. He climbed steadily, his boots thudding against the stone. At the top was a vast plateau, leading to a pair of doors that dwarfed anything he had seen before. They stood twice the height of the great oak tree in Kattegat, imposing and silent.

Thorfinn pushed the doors open with great effort, their weight resisting him until they creaked loudly, revealing the interior. The inside was breathtaking. Columns stretched high into the darkness, carved from smooth stone that seemed to shimmer faintly. Platforms and walkways connected various parts of the vast room, suspended over an open space below. Strange mechanisms lined the walls, their purposes beyond his understanding. He stepped further inside, his boots clicking against the floor. The air was warmer here, the chill of the cavern less intense. Looking around, he spotted a grand staircase in the center of the room. Unlike most staircases he'd seen, this one spiraled downward into the depths. Thorfinn adjusted his pack and began his descent, the sound of his footsteps growing fainter as he went deeper.

The staircase opened into a massive room. Pipes, both large and small, crisscrossed the space like veins, their metallic surfaces gleaming in the dim light. Large crystals floated in specific intervals, rotating slowly and thrumming with energy. In the center was a curved structure, a strange metal table covered with lights and buttons that blinked intermittently.

"Thorfinn!" Dyabe's voice called from across the room. He was standing near the metal table, waving him over. Thorfinn approached, taking in the scene with growing curiosity.

"What is this place?" Thorfinn asked, his eyes moving across the pipes and crystals.

Dyabe shook his head, his expression a mix of awe and determination. "I do not know," he admitted. "But It seems important, perhaps an observatory? Do you see the crystals embedded in the ceiling, perhaps they are the stars? In truth this is so foreign to me I'm not quite sure what to make of it."

He turned his attention to the table, running his hands over its smooth surface. The lights blinked rhythmically, but nothing happened when Dyabe pressed them. "These look important, but they do not respond to my touch," he muttered.

Thorfinn stepped closer, resting his hand absently on the table. The moment his skin made contact, he felt a sharp, overwhelming pull, like his very essence was being drained. He fell to one knee, his breath catching as the energy surged through him. The intensity was unlike anything he'd felt before, leaving him cold and weak. His magic reserves were nearly halved in an instant, the loss disorienting.

"Thorfinn!" Dyabe moved toward him, but stopped when the room began to creak. The pipes groaned, crystals began spinning faster, and light flooded the space as mechanisms roared to life. The torches they'd carried were now irrelevant; the room was brighter than the midday sun.

Dyabe's voice rose above the noise. "What is happening?"

Thorfinn pushed himself back to his feet, steadying himself against the table. The crystals above them pulsed, their light spreading through the pipes, illuminating more of the space. The ground shuddered again, the vibrations almost knocking Thorfinn off balance. He steadied himself and looked toward Dyabe, who was standing just a few feet away, completely fixated on the massive sarcophagus that was now emerging out of the ground in the centre of the room.

Thorfinn moved closer, before his focus shifted to the distant shouts echoing through the cavern. Something was happening outside, and every instinct he had told him they needed to leave. "Dyabe," he said, stepping forward and grabbing the man's arm. "We have to go. Something's wrong up there."

Dyabe didn't even turn to look at him. "Go if you wish, Thorfinn. I'm staying. I need to open this, this could be what I've been looking for."

"This can wait," Thorfinn said, his grip tightening. "Whatever's happening outside might not. We need to regroup and figure out what's going on."

Dyabe pulled his arm free, his gaze never leaving the sarcophagus. "Leave if you're afraid. I won't abandon this now."

Thorfinn clenched his jaw, his frustration mounting. He stared at Dyabe for a long moment, then exhaled sharply. "Fine," he muttered, turning on his heel and heading toward the stairs. "Stubborn fool," he growled under his breath.

The building groaned around him as he ascended the staircase. Each step felt heavier as the vibrations intensified, sending dust and small debris tumbling from the ceiling. Lights flickered erratically, casting disorienting shadows across the walls. Thorfinn gritted his teeth and pressed on, his hand trailing along the stone wall for balance. By the time he reached the main atrium, the shaking had grown worse. He stopped briefly, glancing at the glowing lights embedded in the walls. They pulsed unevenly, as if the entire structure were alive and struggling to stabilize itself. He pushed through the massive doors, stepping outside just in time to witness a battle.

The scene before him was unlike anything he had ever seen. Dyabe's men were scattered across the stone streets, engaged in battle against creatures that defied explanation. The spider-like beings moved on metal legs, their sleek bodies covered in dust. They scuttled with inhuman speed, lashing out with sharp appendages that tore through armor like it was paper. Spherical machines rolled smoothly across the ground before unfolding to reveal blades that spun and beheaded two men at once.

Thorfinn's eyes narrowed as he took in the carnage. 'By the gods,' he thought, watching as one of the creatures impaled a soldier before flinging him aside. Despite the overwhelming number of soldiers, the metallic creatures were holding their ground. Blood pooled across the stone floor; Thorfinn noticed something strange about it though as it seemed to sink into the floor and be absorbed into the ground.

Snapping out of it Thorfinn sprinted down the steps, his quake ability gathering in his palm as he charged one of the spider-like machines. With a shout, he slammed the white sphere of energy into its body. The impact crushed the creature, sending pieces of metal scattering across the ground. He stepped back, his breathing heavy as he stared at the destroyed being. There was no blood, no sign of life. "What manner of creature is this?" he muttered.

The soldiers around him were in complete disarray. Some fought valiantly, their weapons clanging uselessly against the machines, while others dropped their weapons and fled. Thorfinn's frustration boiled over, and he turned toward the panicking men.

"Hold the line!" he roared, his voice cutting through thebattle. "Keep fighting! They can be destroyed!"

...

Dyabe stepped closer to the sarcophagus, his movements slow, his eyes locked on the ancient structure. Whispers seemed to drift through the air, faint and distant at first but growing louder as he approached. The words were unfamiliar, yet they felt like they were meant for him, pulling him forward. His hand trembled as he reached out, his mind unable to resist the invisible pull.

His fingers hovered over a faint marking near the center of the sarcophagus, barely visible against the worn surface. The whispers grew insistent, almost like a chant. As though in a trance, Dyabe pressed his palm against the mark.

The reaction was instant. A spike shot out from the marking, piercing his hand. Dyabe screamed, stumbling backward and clutching his bleeding palm. The crimson liquid seeped into the grooves of the sarcophagus, vanishing as if the stone drank it. The room trembled as a low rumble echoed through the chamber. Dust fell from the ceiling, the ground beneath his feet quaking with growing intensity.

Dyabe scrambled to his feet, his breaths rapid and uneven. He clutched his injured hand to his chest, his eyes wide as he stared at the sarcophagus. The tremors intensified, and the stone lid began to shift. It slid open with a grinding sound, revealing nothing but pitch blackness within. The darkness seemed to consume the faint light around it, an unnatural void that made Dyabe's skin crawl.

His breathing quickened, his body shivering despite the cold air that began to fill the room. Frost crept along the edges of the sarcophagus, spreading outward. Dyabe's legs felt weak, and he stumbled back another step, unable to tear his gaze away. A voice broke the silence, echoing across the room and making Dyabe shout in pain as if the very sound burned into his mind.

"Quamdiu me dereliquisti hic?" (How long has it been since you left me here?)

Dyabe froze. His body refused to move, his mind unable to process what he had just heard. The frost continued to spread, and his breath fogged in the cold air.

"Pater... quamdiu me dereliquisti hic?" (Father... how long has it been since you left me down here?)

The voice came again, reverberating through the chamber. It was a sound that seemed to reach into Dyabe's chest and squeeze his heart. He tried to move, to step back further, but his body was paralyzed. His legs refused to obey.

A hand emerged from the darkness within the sarcophagus. The skin was pale and stretched tightly over the bones, the fingers long and clawed. It gripped the edge of the stone, dragging the rest of its body upward. The creature rose slowly, revealing itself piece by piece. Its gaunt frame was wrapped in tattered remnants of ancient garments, its wings folded tightly against its back. Its face was skeletal, with sunken eye sockets that glowed faintly with a sickly yellow light.

Dyabe's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He could only watch as the being fully emerged, its claws scraping against the stone. It towered over him, its presence filling the room with an oppressive weight.

"Quis es tu?" (Who are you?) the creature growled, its head tilting slightly as its glowing eyes focused on Dyabe.

Dyabe's entire body trembled, his back hitting the wall as he tried to distance himself from the monstrous figure. His mind screamed for him to run, but his legs remained rooted to the spot, his body frozen in fear.

...

Thorfinn swung his sword at the metal spider, aiming for its legs. The blade scraped off the armored limb, leaving sparks but no damage. The creature retaliated, lunging at him with a sharp, metallic appendage. He sidestepped, bringing his sword down in a two-handed strike on its exposed joint. This time, the joint buckled, and the spider faltered. Thorfinn followed up with a kick to its body, sending it sprawling. "Hit the joints! They're weaker there!" Thorfinn shouted, stepping over the twitching machine and driving his blade into its exposed core. The sparks stopped, and it lay still.

Around him, the soldiers fought, trying to take the creatures down. One man jabbed his spear into a spider's leg, but the creature twisted its body, knocking the weapon aside and lunging at him. Thorfinn moved quickly, slamming into the creature from the side with his shoulder. It staggered, giving the soldier a chance to drive his spear into the joint Thorfinn had weakened.

"Keep at it!" Thorfinn roared, turning to another spider that had cornered two men. He sprinted toward it, a white sphere formed in his hand, which he slammed into the creature's center. The quake rippled through its body, shattering its legs. It collapsed, writhing uselessly.

"Get it now!" he ordered. The men hesitated for a moment, then drove their swords into the exposed machinery. The creature stilled.

Another machine rolled toward them, this one a sphere bristling with sharp edges. It crashed into a line of soldiers, cutting one man's leg and sending him to the ground with a scream. Thorfinn sprinted toward it, dodging as the sphere spun and tried to catch him with its blades. He raised his hand, muttering an incantation, "Feidhmigh, doras na beatha, coinnigh siar a rith!" A wave of force surged outward, wrapping around and holding the sphere mid-spin.

He took advantage of its momentary stasis, driving his sword into the seam between its rotating blades. The weapon wedged, but he forced it deeper with a grunt, twisting it until sparks flew and the machine stuttered. A soldier ran up beside him and slammed his spear into the exposed core, finishing it off. Thorfinn barely had time to breathe before another spider lunged at him. He ducked under its legs, slashing at the joints as he moved. The creature staggered, but one of its legs caught his side, sending him tumbling. He rolled to his feet, raising his sword just as the spider advanced. Before it could strike, a soldier rammed his shield into it, forcing it back.

Thorfinn nodded at the man before charging forward again. He leapt onto the spider's back, driving his blade into the seam along its top. Sparks flew as he twisted the weapon, and the machine convulsed before collapsing.

"Fall back to the camp!" Thorfinn shouted as another rumble echoed from the massive building. The soldiers hesitated, looking around at the cavern . "Regroup and hold your ground!"

A deep vibration spread through the ground, and the machines froze in place. For a moment, there was an eerie silence. Then, as if responding to a signal, the creatures turned and began retreating toward the large structure.

"What now?" one of the men asked, panting as he wiped sweat from his brow.

"They're retreating," Thorfinn said, his voice grim. He watched as the last of the machines disappeared into the building's shadowed entrance. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing.

"What do we do?" another soldier asked, his voice shaky.

Thorfinn turned to the group. "They're heading toward Dyabe. We can't leave him alone down there."

One of the men shook his head, his hands were shaking, Throfinn could tell he was scared. "He told us to stay and secure the camp—"

"Forget the camp!" Thorfinn snapped, his voice cutting through the noise. "Do you want to explain to the Dinga's people why we left him to die?"

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances before nodding.

"Gather your weapons and follow me," Thorfinn said, his grip tightening on his sword. "We're going in."

Thorfinn rushed forward as he led the soldiers into the massive structure, their boots crunching against the debris-strewn floor. The faint hum of the structure echoed in the distance. He glanced over his shoulder. The men followed hesitantly, their grips tight on their weapons, their faces pale. Thorfinn kept moving, scanning the darkened halls for any sign of Dyabe, he lead them down the main staircase taking them down to the room he had been in; the bad feeling he'd had since he came here intenseified to a much greater extent.

A loud crash ahead made everyone stop. Thorfinn raised a hand, signaling silence. Another crash followed, then the screech of twisting metal. Thorfinn moved forward, his steps quick but steady. The soldiers stayed behind him, some muttering prayers under their breath. They entered a wide chamber. The remains of metal creatures littered the floor, their limbs scattered. In the center of the room, a massive figure loomed, its pale body hunched and bony, its arms long and ending in sharp claws. Its chest expanded as it let out a guttural snarl.

The creature leapt at a cluster of metal spiders, swiping with its claws. The machines shattered under its strikes, sparks flying. One spider jabbed at the creature's leg, puncturing it with a sharp limb. The creature roared, slamming its fist down and crushing the spider in a single blow.

The soldiers froze. One dropped his weapon, backing up until he hit the wall. Another whispered, "What is that?"

Thorfinn glanced at them. "Keep moving," he said, his voice firm. He stepped forward, forcing the others to follow.

The creature turned its head, its sunken eyes glowing faintly. It ignored the soldiers, turning back to the remaining machines. It tore another apart, but one of the spheres rolled into it, slamming into its ribs and leaving a deep gash. The creature stumbled but recovered, grabbing the sphere and crushing it between its hands. Thorfinn pushed forward, his sword ready. The soldiers followed reluctantly, their gazes darting between the creature and the machines. Thorfinn led them past the fight, keeping to the edges of the chamber. He scanned the room, searching for any sign of Dyabe.

"Over here!" one of the soldiers whispered, pointing toward a corner.

Thorfinn turned, spotting Dyabe crouched near a pillar. His hands trembled as he clutched his chest. His eyes darted around wildly, his lips moving but no words coming out.

Thorfinn hurried to him, kneeling down. "Dyabe," he said sharply, grabbing his shoulder. "We need to go."

Dyabe flinched, his breath hitching. He tried to speak, but the words came out stuttered. "The—sarcophagus—it... it spoke."

Thorfinn shook him. "Whatever it is, we don't have time. We have to move before the creature notices us."

Dyabe stared at him, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. Another crash echoed through the chamber, followed by a deep growl. The ground shook as the creature tore into another sphere.

Thorfinn grabbed Dyabe's arm, pulling him to his feet. "Get up!" he barked. Dyabe stumbled but obeyed, leaning heavily on Thorfinn as they started moving back toward the entrance.

"Stay together!" Thorfinn called to the soldiers. He kept his grip on Dyabe tight, his eyes scanning the room for any new threats. The creature roared again, the sound echoing through the chamber. Thorfinn gripped Dyabe tightly, his arm wrapped firmly around his shoulder as they stumbled out of the chamber. The soldiers followed, their hurried steps echoing through the trembling hall. Behind them, the sickening sound of claws scraping against stone faded into silence. Then came the voice.

"Ḥūmānī... mā lā yaqūʿūn liʼalrakaʻ." (Humans... ones who do not bow.)

Thorfinn risked a glance back. The pale creature was following, its bony claws dragging lightly along the walls. Its glowing, empty eyes burned with anger.

"Attack!" Thorfinn shouted, turning to the soldiers. "In the name of the Ghana! Kill it! It can't take all of you!"

The soldiers hesitated, terror etched across their faces. Some shuffled back while others gripped their weapons tighter, their fear nearly paralyzing them.

"You heard me!" Thorfinn roared. "Go now!"

A few of the bravest—or perhaps the most foolish—charged forward, their spears raised high. Others followed more hesitantly, believing themselves to be safer with everyone else.

The creature's lip curled into a snarl as it stopped in its tracks. "Tuḥāwilu al-dhafādiʻ mawjuha ʻīdī." (You dare attack Hakon last child of Caine.)

The first soldier thrust his spear with all his strength. Hakon tilted its head as the weapon neared, catching the shaft and twisting it effortlessly, snapping it in half. The soldier had no time to react before Hakon grabbed his jaw, forcing it open until the sickening sound of bone splitting filled the air. Blood poured as his tongue lolled limply, and the creature sank its fangs into his neck, drinking greedily. The soldier's body convulsed, the life draining from him until Hakon tossed him aside like a discarded rag.

Thorfinn froze, his stomach churning. Shadows began to pulse around Hakon as the blood gave it strength.

A second soldier swung his sword. The blade struck the creature's arm but bounced off harmlessly. Hakon's claws ripped upward, severing the man's arm from his shoulder. The soldier screamed, stumbling back, but Hakon didn't give him time to fall. It lunged forward, grabbing the man's head and pulling sharply until his neck stretched unnaturally. The creature snapped his head off with one powerful jerk, holding it briefly before throwing it into the crowd.

Another soldier tried to run, but Hakon was faster. It leaped onto his back, its claws piercing his chest and pulling him into the air. The man's cries turned to gurgles as Hakon tore out his lungs and threw them to the floor. "ʼanfaʻ min alhādiqat." (More useful outside your chest.)

More soldiers rushed forward, their desperation driving them. Hakon met them head-on, grabbing one by the throat and squeezing until his head popped, spraying blood across the walls. Another soldier thrust his spear into the creature's side, but Hakon grabbed the shaft and impaled the man on it, driving him into the stone wall until the spear snapped in two. The remaining soldiers faltered, their courage broken as they witnessed the massacre. Hakon stood among the bodies, drenched in blood, its chest heaving as it fed. The darkness around it grew denser, pulsing like a living thing.

Thorfinn gritted his teeth, dragging Dyabe forward. The Dinga stumbled, his breathing uneven. "Move!" Thorfinn growled, his voice sharp. "We need to get out of here now!"

Dyabe groaned, his legs barely cooperating. "What... what is that thing?" he stuttered, his eyes wide with fear.

Thorfinn didn't answer. He could still hear the screams of the dying behind him, but he didn't dare look back. They reached the stairs leading out, the ground beneath them trembling with each step.

A guttural roar echoed through the hall.

"Tamāmī yaḥtajūn tadhkirat al-jannah." (All of you may join the tyrant in paradise.)

Thorfinn pushed harder, his grip on Dyabe firm as they neared the exit. The smell of blood and death filled the air, but he forced himself to focus. The rumbling of the structure seemed to grow louder, the shadows lengthening as if following them. As they reached the outer corridors, Thorfinn muttered under his breath. "What in Hel's name have we woken up?"

Thorfinn could feel the creature finish up with the last of the soldiers and start to move up the stairs. With him carrying Dyabe he knew they wouldn't make it to the top. He pulled Dyabe forward as they bolted through another corridor off the stairs. Dyabe stumbled, his breathing uneven. Thorfinn glanced back, seeing Hakon's shadowed form trailing them.

"Move faster," Thorfinn said, gripping Dyabe's arm tighter and yanking him upright when he faltered.

"I can't—my legs—" Dyabe gasped.

"You can," Thorfinn snapped. He didn't look back again. They needed to put more distance between themselves and Hakon.

The corridor ahead opened into a large chamber. Thorfinn scanned the room, noting a series of toppled pillars and a broken staircase leading to another level. He pulled Dyabe toward the shadows cast by the pillars, motioning for him to crouch. Dyabe collapsed against one of the columns, holding his side and gasping for air. The sound of Hakon's footsteps echoed closer. Thorfinn knelt beside Dyabe, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. His eyes darted around the chamber, searching for another way out.

A faint scraping sound came from the far corner of the room. Thorfinn tensed, his grip tightening. He whispered, "Stay low," before stepping away from Dyabe and creeping toward the noise.

Hakon's voice echoed through the chamber, the foreign words chilling despite their unfamiliarity. "Wājib 'an aḥṣal ʿala damakum." (I must regain my strength.)

Thorfinn stopped, his breathing shallow. He crouched behind a fallen slab of stone, his gaze fixed on the entrance. Hakon's shadow stretched along the walls, Thorfinn gritted his teeth, gripping his sword tightly. Dyabe shifted behind him, his movement drawing Hakon's attention. The creature's head tilted slightly before he took another step forward. Thorfinn cursed under his breath and rose from his position, slamming his boot against the stone slab to draw Hakon's attention away from Dyabe.

Hakon's eyes locked onto Thorfinn. The creature's lips curled into something that resembled a grin. Thorfinn ran toward the staircase, motioning for Dyabe to follow. Dyabe staggered to his feet and stumbled after him. They reached the staircase, Thorfinn helping Dyabe climb over the broken steps. Hakon followed at a steady pace, his footsteps growing louder as he approached.

They reached the top and bolted down another corridor. Thorfinn kept his grip on Dyabe's arm, pulling him forward when he faltered. The walls were carved with strange symbols, their faint glow lighting the way.

Hakon's voice echoed again, closer now. "Lā yumkinuka al-firār." (You cannot escape.)

Thorfinn growled under his breath and pushed Dyabe into a side room, shutting the door behind them. He turned and scanned the small space. It was empty except for a few scattered stones and debris. He moved to the back wall, searching for another exit.

Hakon's footsteps stopped outside the door. The creature's voice was low, almost mocking. "Lā mafr lil-khidhlān." (There is no escape from death.)

The door splintered as Hakon's clawed hand punched through. Thorfinn grabbed Dyabe and pushed him toward the far corner of the room. The door shattered as Hakon stepped inside, his eyes fixed on Thorfinn. Thorfinn swung his sword, aiming for Hakon's neck. The creature caught the blade with one hand, shoving Thorfinn backward. Thorfinn hit the wall, his grip on the sword slipping. Hakon crossed the room in two steps and grabbed Thorfinn by the throat, lifting him off the ground.

"You will not deny me," Hakon growled. His fangs glinted as he leaned closer, sinking his teeth into Thorfinn's neck.

Thorfinn gasped, his body tensing as the pain shot through him. His hands clawed at Hakon's arm, but the creature's grip was too powerful. He felt his strength draining, his vision blurring. He felt himself slowly slipping away, 'No... I can't,' he thought to himself as his mind flashed to Rebekah and Freydis, he couldn't afford to fail, he couldn't afford to leave them. Deep within him, something stirred. It was faint at first, a flicker of warmth. Then it grew, a pressure building in his chest. It surged through him, uncontrollable and overwhelming. A burst of light erupted from his body, forcing Hakon to release him.

Hakon stumbled back, smoke rising from his hands and mouth. He growled in pain, his movements unsteady. Thorfinn collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.

Dyabe rushed to his side, pulling him to his feet. "Let's go now!" Dyabe shouted, his voice trembling. Thorfinn nodded weakly, leaning on Dyabe for support. They stumbled out of the room, Thorfinn's steps faltering but he pushed himself, his muscles burned but it wasn't the first time. Behind them, Hakon knelt on the ground, his hands trembling. He raised one to his mouth, tasting the blood on his fingers.

"Damm ilāhī..." (Divine blood...) Hakon muttered, his voice laced with intrigue. His wounds began to heal, the burns fading.

"Ābā' al-qadīmīn..." (The old gods...) Hakon said, a twisted grin spreading across his face. His laughter echoed through the chamber as he stood.

Thorfinn and Dyabe staggered into another hallway, the sound of Hakon's laughter following them. Thorfinn pressed a hand to his neck, the wound still fresh, his body trembling from the aftereffects of whatever had happened.

"What was that?" Dyabe asked, his voice frantic.

"I don't know," Thorfinn said, his breathing heavy. He glanced back, the hallway empty for now. "I don't care, I just want to get out of here." He grabbed his arm, pulling him forward as they bolted through the dimly lit corridors. The walls vibrated faintly behind them, the sound of Hakon's deep, growling voice echoing somewhere in the distance. The air felt heavier with every step, making it harder to breathe. Thorfinn's grip on Dyabe's arm was firm as he forced him to keep moving. They stumbled out of the building and into the ruined city. Thorfinn glanced back, half expecting to see Hakon emerging from the shadows. He exhaled in relief when he didn't, though he knew it wouldn't last.

The camp wasn't far. He could see the torches lining its perimeter and the faint outline of soldiers. "Dinga!" They shouted as he came into view. Though when they reached the camp, Thorfinn immediately noticed something was wrong. The platform they needed to escape was missing, currently being lowered from the top of the cavern. Thorfinn cursed under his breath, this was the e only way out and they needed to wait until it came back down.

A deafening roar erupted from the building behind them, shaking the ground. Soldiers turned, their faces pale with fear. Dyabe straightened, his eyes wide. "Every man, prepare to fight! Attack that creature!" he bellowed, pointing toward the source of the roar. The soldiers hesitated, their hands trembling on their weapons. Thorfinn drew his sword, stepping forward despite the searing pain in his neck and the exhaustion weighing him down.

The first of Hakon's men stepped forward, swords raised. The soldiers rallied, charging toward the massive figure now emerging from the shadows. Hakon's claws tore through the first man, ripping him apart with a single swipe. His chest cavity was laid bare, organs spilling onto the ground. A second soldier thrust his spear, but Hakon grabbed the weapon mid-air, snapping it in half before stabbing the broken end into the soldier's throat. Blood sprayed as the man fell, gurgling. Another group rushed him from the side, one throwing a weighted net over his shoulders. Hakon didn't stop. He spun, the net tangling the men who held it. They screamed as he twisted his claws, snapping necks and crushing skulls. He grabbed another soldier by the leg, slamming him against the ground repeatedly until his body was limp.

A spear struck Hakon's back, the tip embedding in his flesh. He turned, his glowing eyes locking onto the man who had thrown it. With inhuman speed, Hakon was on him, grabbing the man's head and twisting it clean off. He held it up, blood dripping onto the ground as he roared, throwing the head into the crowd of soldiers.

Thorfinn gritted his teeth, charging forward. He ducked under Hakon's swing, his sword slicing across the creature's side. Hakon hissed, the wound shallow but enough to get his attention. Thorfinn dodged again as claws swiped at his head, spinning to deliver a strike to Hakon's thigh. The creature barely flinched, grabbing Thorfinn by the shoulder and throwing him into a pile of rubble.

Thorfinn pushed himself up, coughing, his grip tightening on his sword. He raised his hand, forming the Igni sign, and released a burst of flames toward Hakon. The fire struck his chest, but Hakon seemed unaffected, merely tilting his head as if amused. Hakon growled, his voice guttural. He lunged forward, but Thorfinn countered with a Quen shield, the impact sending a shockwave through the air. Hakon recoiled slightly, giving Thorfinn enough time to roll away.

Despite getting some good hits in Thorfinn fought to stay on his feet, his sword trembling in his grip. Hakon was incredibly fast, his claws raking the air as Thorfinn dodged and countered. He was faster than anything Thorfinn had ever faced. Each strike from Thorfinn's blade barely slowed him down.

Hakon's laugh rumbled through the air. "Eslai varon ka anae," he growled. (You struggle in vain.)

Thorfinn staggered, gripping his sword tightly. He clenched his fist tightly as his quake ability charged he roared as he slammed his fist into the ground. The force cracked the stone beneath them, causing Hakon to stumble for a moment. Thorfinn rushed forward, driving his blade into Hakon's chest. The creature roared, but his lips curled into a grin. "Vakaro sal tean?" (Is this all?) he growled, gripping the blade with one hand and wrenching it free. He tossed the sword aside, stepping toward Thorfinn.

Thorfinn swung a fist, but Hakon caught it mid-air, twisting his arm painfully. With his other hand, Hakon drove his clawed fingers into Thorfinn's chest, piercing just above his heart. Thorfinn screamed, his knees buckling as Hakon leaned in, his fangs bared.

"Lanrae sol ti, neira sol dra," Hakon hissed, his voice dripping with malice. (You will die here, your blood will be mine.)

Thorfinn struggled, his free hand grabbing weakly at Hakon's arm. He felt the claws dig deeper, the pain blinding. Just as Hakon prepared to strike the final blow, a shadow moved in the corner of Thorfinn's vision. Dyabe appeared, his spear raised high. Without hesitation, he drove it into Hakon's side with all his strength. The creature roared, stumbling back as the weapon pierced him. Dyabe grabbed Thorfinn by the arm, pulling him away.

"Go!" Dyabe shouted, his voice strained.

Hakon's glowing eyes fixed on Dyabe. "Taso valrin tra!" he snarled, ripping the spear from his side and throwing it aside. (You dare defy me?) He lunged, his claws tearing into Dyabe's chest. Blood sprayed as Dyabe cried out, falling to his knees.

Thorfinn froze, his chest heaving as he watched his friend collapse. "Dyabe!" he roared, stepping forward, but it was too late. Hakon cast Dyabe aside like a broken doll, his body crumpling to the ground.

The sight of Dyabe's lifeless form ignited something deep within Thorfinn. His body trembled, a burning sensation spreading from his core. A guttural roar escaped his lips as the light burst forth again, more intense than before. It radiated outwards, engulfing Hakon and forcing him back with a scream of pain. Smoke rose from his body as the light seared his flesh.

"Naesira valin!" Hakon roare, stumbling back. (Wretched blood!) He clutched his face, his voice shaking with rage.

Thorfinn stumbled toward Dyabe's body, his knees giving out as he knelt beside him. For a brief moment, he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, his breathing ragged. He turned, his eyes locking onto the platform as it hovered just above the ground. He forced himself to his feet, his legs screaming in protest. Behind him, Hakon's growls echoed through the air, filled with fury. Thorfinn didn't look back. He sprinted for the platform, throwing himself onto it just as it began to rise. He gripped the edge tightly, his body shaking from exhaustion and pain. Below, Hakon stumbled forward, his wings unfurling as if to pursue.

The creature leapt into the air but faltered, crashing back to the ground. "Tasar karan sol," he growled, his voice a mix of rage and frustration. (My magic has not returned.) He looked up at Thorfinn with a twisted grin. "Rantra sen, valin. Elrae karan." (Run while you can, mortal. We will meet again.)

Thorfinn didn't respond. He lay on the platform, staring up at the cavern ceiling as it carried him higher. Pain rushed through him as he rolled onto his stomach and looked down to see the monster devouring Dyabe. His gaze then looked to the creature that had slaughtered hundreds of people in less than an hour, not even Thorfinn stabbing it through the heart stopped it.

Thorfinn could only hope it couldn’t escape from this pit, if it did then none of them were safe.

(AN: I hate this. Honestly I hate this chapter with a passion, I hate it so much i would delete it if it were not so long and caused many sleepless nights. I’ve actually never felt so miserable writing before, I came close to quitting that’s how much I hate this chapter. Anyway if you can tell Hakon is the same Hakon from Skyrim but in this he’s a 2nd generation Vampire made by Caine (refer to world of darkness lore). Before anyone says it yes I know they are insanely powerful and they could likely just fart everyone out of existence but he’s been asleep for 10,000 years, so give me a break. Anyway I don’t like writing goodbyes so I’ll likely just give an overview of what happened next, next chapter. Yeah I would say I hope you enjoy this chapter but I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t, honestly it’s trash. Not even gonna link my Patreon.)